


Coat Of Arms

by Ulfrsmal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Actually That Word Is Always Avoided, Anal Sex, Angst, Blackwatch, Curly Haired Gabriel, Degrading Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingering, Happy Ending, Latin-American Slang, M/M, Moral Compass? What Is That? Do You Eat It?, Office Sex, Praise Kink, Present Tense, Progressively More Fucked Up Characters, Rough Sex, Sex, Shade At International Organisations, Spanish Is Written With Spanish Grammar, Spanking, Watch The Author Avoid The Word “Straight” In A Gay Sex-Scene, blowjob, gratuitous Spanish, handjob, not the ending you think, praising dirty talk, trans!McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulfrsmal/pseuds/Ulfrsmal
Summary: Despite their continuous bickering, Overwatch has learnt to not underestimate the perfect coordination and respect running deep between Commanders Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. Hell, even the kids have noticed that there’s probably more between them than they let the world know about.At some point amidst their personal businesses, Overwatch fell, Blackwatch rose, and both men changed. For better or worse, no one can truly know. Reunited again, their relationship stretches beyond their years together – and, hopefully, will form a new item.TW: Death, PTSD, Explosions, Blood, Gore, Body Horror, General Violence, Explosions, Injuries, Medical Trauma, Loss Of Limbs. Each chapter's Start Notes contains details about the TW in said chapter.[NOTE: This fic is very much a WIP at this point. Edits to posted chapters may be made.]
Relationships: Past Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Vincent, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. Coat Of Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Full credit to Sabaton for their 2010 album Coat of Arms. It is the inspiration behind this piece. I would advice to not pay much attention to the original lyrics, though; those are based around real-life battles (sans for track number 10, Metal Ripper). Or:
> 
> you've heard of conceptual albums; now prepare yoruself for... conceptual song-fics?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: After the partition line, there is rough sex and spanking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google Translate, “Mom” in Arabic is pronounced ‘umi. I don’t speak Arabic, so feel free to correct it! All Spanish is translated in the chapter’s end notes.

Jesse McCree lets himself sink further down onto the seat, feeling as though he’s being scolded for something he hasn’t done. Honestly, it really shouldn’t be his fault that Fareeha is a troublesome little girl, or that he’s supposed to watch over her just because they’re both kids. In his eyes, it’s an extremely boring task – because it isn’t like they can do anything else than lounge around the base. Neither kid is allowed on the battlefield, and even basic training is vetoed and supervised by at least someone – usually Ana or Morrison. That has always stung Jesse more than he wants the so-called “adults” to know about, although he fully understands _why_ he and Fareeha are monitored so closely.

Jesse turns his head to watch a very bored Fareeha sitting on the floor, right by Ana’s feet. It must be nice to have a mother to fall back on, Jesse supposes. Fareeha is too busy with a picture-book about World War II to notice his staring, but he doesn’t mind. Watching without being watched is a virtue, an ability to train – or so Gabriel says.

Idly, Jesse thinks about asking Fareeha to borrow that book, since he only has a very broad idea of what happened in that War, but quickly thinks better of it. It can be truly dangerous to owe Fareeha a favour; small as she is, she already knows how to get her way.

Jesse is one-hundred-percent sure she’s picked that up from Ana.

The same Ana who raises both her head and eyebrows when the sounds intensify. The ruckus comes from next door, from Morrison’s office. It sounds like him and Gabriel are arguing.

Again.

“Should I worry?” Jesse asks Ana. His voice sounds too high-pitched to his own ears, and he hopes Ana won’t comment on it too much.

“Not really.” Ana smiles at him. She intended to calm him down, but it only makes him flinch. She’s still terrifying to him. “I bet it’s only them resolving work differences.”

“Huh.” Jesse makes a face, unconvinced. “If you say so…”

“Are you worried, Jesse?” Fareeha raises her gaze from the picture book to look at him. From the sound of it, she’s been following the conversation, even without looking. Jesse suspects that, given a few years, she’ll be as terrifying as her mother.

“A little?” He half-asks, half-answers. Something never sits well with him when he hears Gabriel argue like this, even if he knows that it never escalates into a full-on war.

“It’s alright.” Ana smiles, assures them both. Fareeha looks at her mother upside-down due to how far back she’s craned her neck. “When they come out of that room, both will be fine. You’ll see why once you grow up a bit more.”

“What?!” Fareeha exclaims. The book falls open on her lap, a couple of the pages crumpled. Ana nudges her daughter until she rectifies the book’s state, placing a blue and gold bookmark inside before closing it properly. “You always say that, _‘umi_!”

Slowly but surely, Jesse tunes the rest of the conversation out. Between Gabriel and Morrison, he already hears enough bickering to last him an entire lifetime… he really doesn’t need to add mother-daughter quarrels on top of that. He just looks to Morrison’s office’s closed door, through which Gabriel had disappeared around an hour ago.

Jesse seriously hopes everything is alright.

* * *

On the other side of that door, Gabriel is rubbing at his temples. Frustration settled in some time ago, driving him to speak first and think second – a dangerous quality for a soldier to have, he knows. Gabriel tells himself, and not for the first time today, that he should already be used to all of this, in (and especially out) of the battlefield. Still, he has to admit that he very much prefers it _in_ the battlefield – but only because Jack coordinates himself better with Gabriel’s covert strategies when there’s hell breaking loose around the overt Overwatch teams.

Outside of an open conflict, though, Jack is an unagreeable son of a gun. Not of a bitch, his mind insists on precising, Gabriel would never dare disrespect Jack’s mother like that. Not that Gabriel’s ever met the lady in question – but if she has half her son’s fight in her, she must for sure be a force to be reckoned with.

Besides, Gabriel wouldn’t be very good at teaching Jesse to respect his elders if Gabriel himself didn’t do that, too.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Jack asks, barely containing himself to keep his volume under a shout. He sounds frustrated too, Gabriel notes.

“How couldn’t I be listening to you when you’re _this_ loud?” Gabriel retorts before he can think better of it. The fact that he hasn’t bothered measuring neither his words nor volume before speaking earns him a certain _look_ from Jack.

That’s one of the things Gabriel Reyes likes the most about Jack Morrison – he gives as good as he gets. It makes their banter exciting; special, even. It keeps Gabriel on his toes at times, punches him square in the brain when he’s not quick-witted enough to bite back. In those moments, he can only growl from deep within his throat and physically pounce on Jack, biting him back in other ways.

“Charming.” Jack leans both elbows on the battered, wooden desk in front of him. His hawkish gaze is glued to Gabriel, observing him as he reclines back on his seat at the other side of Jack’s desk. A beat passes without words – then, it’s clear that this argument will not be over until they reach a consensus. Hence why Jack sighs before trying another approach. “Give me your two cents, then.”

“Ordering me, are we now?” Gabriel mutters, voice rough from how he’s straining himself to keep his volume down. It ultimately doesn’t matter, though; Jack can hear him just fine anyway. Very blue eyes scorch Gabriel for a moment. Then, Gabriel is speaking again. “If we advance like you propose, they’ll shoot us dead in seconds. We’d be blindly walking into an ambush. Which is a stupid idea, considering that we _know_ that there’s an ambush in there.”

So much for being polite… Gabriel’s voice has grown rougher and rougher the longer he speaks. By the time he pronounced his last sentence, it was nothing more than a growl – it’d be a miracle if Jack has caught that Gabriel was still speaking in English, because he probably hasn’t understood a single word.

Jack’s sigh comes as no surprise to Gabriel, though he fails to understand the true reason behind it. Jack already knows everything Gabriel just said is true – he just doesn’t see any other solution. If he must sacrifice some soldiers in a battle to win a war, well… Jack doesn’t have to like the idea. _Gabriel_ doesn’t have to like the idea. But if it works, it works. Right now, Overwatch needs results a little too much to be picky about strategy.

A million retorts appear in Jack’s mind as he mulls over Gabriel’s words, silently thankful that his equal is giving him time to think. Knowing Gabriel’s hair-trigger these days, he could very well start cursing Jack out in Spanish at any minute now. Then again, Jack can hardly blame him for that; the mysterious entity known only as “the Reaper” has been nothing but trouble for the last months. There is absolutely no intel about them, and their lack of apparent association to any specific organisation makes the Reaper virtually impossible to pin down. Overwatch and Blackwatch alike have lost good, hardworking men and women to the death-brining creature – and yet Gabriel always seems much more pissed about it than Jack.

“… what do you suggest?” Jack asks, not wanting to let any of the biting retorts in his mind fly. Damnit it all ten ways from Sunday, he’s trying his best to be fair, to see things from Gabriel’s perspective.

If only Gabriel could see that…

“Contain the most of them in the front, keep ‘em fucking busy there. Send a small contingent in through the back. A small unit won’t be detected as fast, they can raise hell from the other side. Once the fight has started inside, have your units push from the front, we push from the back, and we trap them in the middle.” A gesture to punctuate his next word, “ _Boom_. We win.”

“Or sacrifice the entire contingents in the attempt.” Jack points out, deliberately overlooking that Gabriel’s use of English is littered with directly translated Spanish grammar. It’s uncanny, because he’s completely bilingual; these are mistakes that he only makes when his mind is thinking in his native Spanish, but his mouth is running in his also native English.

Or that’s how Jesse explained it to Jack, shy and fumbling with his red serape. In these circumstances, such mistakes can only mean that Gabriel is not taking their Talon enemies seriously; and _that_ is a more pressing issue than grammar constraints.

“If you just go in guns blazing, more soldiers will fall.” Gabriel immediately bites back, gaze as dark as his mood. “Soldiers are going to fall either way, so we might as well pick the better strategy from the fucking start.”

This time it’s Jack who’s rubbing at his temples. Their whole argument can be reduced to that line – what is the best strategy, what is the one plan that sacrifices the least men? Everybody knows that not a single soldier serving either in Jack’s Overwatch, or in Gabriel’s Blackwatch, will move out if the plan has not been approved by both Jack _and_ Gabriel. The plans they propose are a reflection of their teams’ usual tactics, too – overt Jack wanting a heroic Overwatch strike; covert Gabriel wanting a quick in-and-out amid black-ops distraction tactics.

But they need to reach a consensus, because the best plan so far is the one proposed by Gabriel – much to Jack’s dismay. Hence this ongoing argument – and their respective, growing headaches. Honestly, such a backdoors attack can only succeed if Blackwatch forces carry it out. Overwatch tends to be much too direct for that; and that’s without speaking about how the international press, and the United Nations itself, is much more aware of Overwatch’s existence. That leaves Gabriel with all the freedom he needs to ensure his black-ops teams’ victory – but it also means that he’s never retributed fairly for his troubles.

That’s another thing that Jack is painfully aware of; the one thing that Jesse hadn’t even needed to mention directly.

Gabriel leans forward, his hands almost brushing Jack’s arms. Jack instantly looks to him, searches his gaze as if he wanted to know why Gabriel is suddenly trying another approach. Which is kind of hypocritical, considering Jack himself has done the same mere minutes ago.

“I’m not going to give you this, Jackie.” Gabriel says. He’s keeping his tone soft, and the growl has disappeared for good. Both those things utterly disarm Jack, discourage another fight – the Hells under their boots know they’ve both screamed their throats sore today. “Tell you what, though…”

“…yes?” Jack asks, slowly – slowly, because Gabriel is getting a certain gleam in his eyes. A gleam that Jack has quickly learnt to associate with wickedness. And Gabriel certainly has enough of that to share between him and Jesse, as much as the boy tries his best to earn that crown too.

“Approve my plan for later, and you can call the shots _now_.”

Jack promptly blushes deep crimson. How can Gabriel say those things so openly, where not one but _two_ underaged kids might hear?! And there’s the almost all-knowing Ana, too; she’s certainly going to tease them both for weeks on end if she catches wind of these… _unofficial activities_.

And yet Gabriel looks completely calm, barely smiles sweeter than dark sugar and holds Jack’s gaze steady.

“Fucking _Hell_ , Gabe…” Jack swears under his breathe, still completely flushed. A smirk forms slowly on Gabriel’s face, much to Jack’s embarrassment. “Don’t say those things so loud.”

“No one’s gonna hear.” Gabriel opens both his arms wide. The motion is enough to display his biceps; they look especially enticing in those tight, short sleeves. Jack shuts his jaw closed tightly – he needs an outlet for the urge to bite Gabriel. “And even if they did, the kids aren’t going to understand. They’re too young.”

Jack considers him for a moment, because Jesse will _definitely_ pick up any and all post-coital vibes, but he doesn’t say a word about any of that. Gabriel stares back steadily, enjoying how easily Jack blushes. For a working Strike Commander, he sure is virginally innocent… although Gabriel hasn’t been the first one in his bed… _Fuck_ , Gabriel is almost tempted to take his teasing much further, to say much filthier things, just to see how much Jack can blush.

He would also love to get Jack out of that pristine white shirt, just to see how far down that blush extends.

“…fine.” Jack grumbles after the silence has extended heavy in the room. Gabriel grins wide and dark, and Jack promptly adds, “But not in my office!”

“Why not?” Gabriel sounds innocently curious, even though he’s already reaching over the desk, hands brushing over Jack’s long sleeves. It’s unbelievable how quickly he dresses for winter when autumn gets colder; especially because not even the few South Americans in Blackwatch do. “The kids will assume we’re just shouting again. And Ana can keep her mouth shut.”

“And she can also tease us to no end.” Jack feebly retorts. He sounds just as feeble – he’s not taking his arms back.

“Let her, then.” Gabriel slowly presses on, his voice like honey despite its rough quality. He slides his fingers from Jack’s wrist to his elbow. “Isn’t our joint strategy more important than her?”

“Y-yes…” Jack concedes, and not just because Gabriel is objectively right. Jack can feel all his resistance fading away as all his defences are pried from him.

“Well then, Jackie…” Gabriel slowly raises from his seat, leans over, and presses his lips firmly against Jack’s. When they come apart, he keeps himself close, his words reverberating throughout Jack. “… how do you want me?”

Jack sucks in a somewhat shaky breath. He also does his best to not grab Gabriel by the lapels. All he receives in return for his troubles is a wicked smile, one that seems to communicate that Gabriel knows everything about his troubles. Jack raises from his seat, slowly circumvents the desk – there’s a scowl on his face, because he doesn’t believe that Gabriel knows it all.

He _can_ be a know-it-all, but that doesn’t mean he’s all-powerful.

“Bend over.” Jack growls. He’s using his most authoritative voice; the same one he uses with new recruits to inspire fear and respect on equal measures. Gabriel shivers in anticipation, and then he’s obeying. But he’s also being deliberately slow. It riles Jack up so much that a new growl escapes him. “I thought you said you’re mine tonight.”

Gabriel gives the window by his right a nonchalant glance. When his gaze falls on Jack once again, he looks almost bored with the whole situation. The only thing betraying him, the only thing letting his true emotions be seen, are his pupils – they’re blown. And that’s without mentioning that his breathing is becoming shallower with each passing minute. It all makes his anticipation evident.

Jack would tease him to hell and back about that, but he’s not in the mood to make this anything else than quick, raw, and dirty – never mind that that’s not what most people expect of him.

“It’s not technically night just yet.” Gabriel retorts, his words returning Jack to the present. Stars above, his voice sounds as strained as his coiled muscles look.

“You said “now”, not “tonight”. Are you taking it back?” Jack asks. He’s stopped himself from reaching out ( _again_ ), because this answer matters. Jack has always believed in freely-given consent, even when he’s just asking about which strategy Gabriel thinks will be more effective in the battlefield.

Gabriel meets Jack’s eye before answering.

“ _Nah_.”

That shared gaze conveys much more than words ever could.

This time, Jack doesn’t bother to contain his own strength – he just reaches out, grabs Gabriel by the lapels, and crashes their mouths together. Gabriel reciprocates the touch and growls into the kiss, obviously enjoying every second of this. Their strength is easily matched in one another, making it impossible to declare an evident winner, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try with all their might to up one another.

When they come apart for air, lungs stinging from lack of oxygen, Gabriel smirks. He’s glad that his darker skin hides his blushes much better than Jack’s – his favourite Commander is so blonde, so blue-eyed, so pale…

Gabriel might joke a lot about Jack’s paleness, but he also loves it. He loves to see Jack blushing crimson red, lips pink from being kissed, blue eyes almost black from the ravenous hunger in his loins.

Gabriel shivers again.

He also has to bite his lower lip not to moan out loud when Jack suddenly forces him to bend over his desk. Gabriel braces both hands against it, grabbing its wooden edges – there are no splinters, which says a lot about how much Jack loves to fuck people in his office. He’ll always deny it, though; he’s always trying to maintain a sliver of dignity in front of his men – and even more so in front of the two kids they’ve come to care for.

Gabriel can understand that sentiment perfectly. Jesse is a son to him.

This is no time to be thinking in anybody who is not Jack, though. Gabriel blinks his thoughts away and focuses on his fellow Commander. Jack is now behind him, crotch against Gabriel’s round ass. Jack unceremoniously reaches around Gabriel’s lower body, undoes his trousers, and tugs them downwards. In this posture, they only go down past Gabriel’s ass, barely enough to expose his curves without letting Jack see his thick thighs. Jack growls again, buries a hand in Gabriel’s short hair.

“Up.” He commands. Gabriel shivers – he felt that single word travelling directly to his crotch. Not that he’s complaining, of course. He just obeys. It makes Jack growl again, “Good boy.”

“ _Gracias_.” Gabriel thanks him, although it’s unnecessary. Jack’s warm hands run along his thighs, changing Gabriel’s posture enough for the trousers to slide onto the floor, where they pool around his ankles. Gabriel immediately reclines forward again, morphing into his most submissive self. “Hurry, won’t you?”

It’s such a shame that his most submissive self is also his most bratty one.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Jack bites back – well, _growls_ back.

Gabriel growls too when he feels Jack lining up, thick and long and _perfect_. He’s had Jack’s cock in so many ways throughout the past two weeks – and yet he feels like he will never get enough of it. Maybe he’s a lust-crazed bastard, but he’ll never renounce his position in Blackwatch if it comes with the perk of fucking Overwatch’s hot Strike Commander almost every day. They both certainly make an effort to meet at least once every week, all missions be damned – just like they’ve been doing since they started training together all those years ago. And that must drive the United Nations’ white-shirts insane, but neither Jack nor Gabriel care about that.

Gabriel doesn’t want to consider the possibly that Jack might be single right now partially due to his constant meetings with Gabriel. It’s a given in this job, at any rate – personal relations take second place when there are wars to be won. Therefore, Jack ended up seeing Gabriel more often than he did his own boyfriend.

“ _¡_ _Joder!_ ” Gabriel curses and moans at the same time. “Raw?!”

“You deserve it, after all the damn trouble you’ve given me today.” Jack retorts. Still, he’s being careful, slow. And Gabriel is already accustomed enough to being on the receiving end (because he’s never at the bottom), that he doesn’t even resent the burn. Or, at least, he doesn’t resent as much as he would if this were the literal first time they switch. “Who do you think you are, yelling at me and then offering to be a whore for me?”

Gabriel can only moan. Jack hasn’t stopped moving, not even while speaking, and he’s now buried almost completely inside Gabriel. A soothing hand runs down Gabriel’s back – such a contrast with his harsh words – and that’s when Gabriel _knows_.

That’s exactly when Gabriel knows that he’s a sucker for Jack, and that he will do anything for him. Sex is only the start of it.

“Do you really…” Gabriel sighs in pleasure when Jack hugs him close. “… want me to answer that?”

“ _Nah_.” Jack answers, imitating Gabriel’s deliberate drawl. If he were thinking about anyone other than Jack, he would recognise that drawl as something Jesse also has – blame their Southern uprising. Gabriel reels at the cheap imitation, but he isn’t sure if it’s from lust or anger. “Just speak more Spanish to me, it’s hot.”

Gabriel chuckles. The sound is cut short as soon as Jack moves back inside, easily transforming into a moan. Gabriel knows himself enough to know that rough, raw sex is something he enjoys every once in a while – this might almost be _too_ raw, though. Jack’s walking that thin line between absolute pleasure and absolute pain, not quite dipping fully into either side. Gabriel bites his lower lip again, avoids rocking back and forth – only because he wants Jack to make all the work, though.

Gabriel’s mind is much too busy to point out that, in any other circumstances, Jack would have never admitted how much he enjoys being talked back to in a language he cannot understand.

“ _¿Es eso todo lo que tienes?_ ” Gabriel taunts him. He feels Jack shaking both in and around him; it tells him that he’s done a good job on disarming Jack. Fuck, even his rhythm is thrown off-beat for a moment. “You like that, hmm? You like fucking me like this, _cabrón_?”

“Shut – up.” Jack orders, each word coming out in time with a new motion of his hips. His voice has been reduced to a low growl at some point amid the taunting, dark and almost needy. Gabriel shivers and smirks, already knowing Jack will not hold back now.

“With all you love me speaking Spanish?” Gabriel taunts, just because he can. He feels Jack shifting behind him – a groan is pulled from Gabriel.

“Either you speak in Spanish, or you shut up altogether.” Jack’s voice is low and raspy as he rams into Gabriel once more. “ _Understood_?”

“ _Sí, Señor_.” Gabriel answers in a moan. He’s bracing himself on the desk’s edge once more, although he isn’t sure about the exact moment when his hands moved.

Jack growls in delight at the Spanish. One of his legs slides in between Gabriel’s, forcing him to open them more. At the same time, Jack buries one strong hand in Gabriel’s dark hair, pushing him further onto the desk. Gabriel groans at the burn of being stretched like this, although both men know he’s flexible enough for it. He doesn’t protest, either.

If Gabriel really wanted to, he could force Jack away from him – he’s enough of a powerhouse on his own; but Jack is unconsciously leaving him enough room, too. As it is, though, Gabriel seems content with letting Jack do all the work. And Jack himself is also pretty happy with it, judging from the way his hips are moving.

By now, Jack is going faster, harder, deeper than before. It makes Gabriel moan little pleas of “ _sí_ ”, “ _más_ ”, “ _no pares_ ”, and “ _Jack_ ”. Jack loves the mentions of his name even more than he loves the Spanish. He leans into Gabriel, changing the angle a bit, and nips at the back of his neck. Gabriel rumbles a moan, the sound amplified when Jack hits his prostate directly. He trembles, muscles contracting around Jack, and Jack growls.

“Jackie…” Gabriel moans, breathless. Jack kisses his neck again, right at the point where his dark hair is born. It’s a gentle-enough gesture to signify Jack’s utmost respect for Gabriel, even as he’s pounding him so filthily. “Don’t stop…”

His voice dissolves into a groaned note when a powerful hand spanks his exposed ass – once, quick, and _hard_.

“What did I say about English?” Jack asks, or reprimands, all movement stopped.

“ _Ni una palabra en inglés…_ ” Gabriel answers right away, completely breathless and desperate. He’s much too proud to admit his own state in words; ultimately, though, it does not matter. After all the missions they’ve coordinated, after all the military drills done together, after all their years learning and improving by each other’s side, Jack can read him easily.

Gabriel’s answer seems to please Jack – or so Gabriel assumes when the fucking resumes. He cannot see Jack’s handsome face from this prone posture; his imagination must suffice.

He wonders if there’s pleasure painted in Jack’s factions, if those deep blue eyes are half closed – just like Gabriel’s own dark ones. A particularly vicious thrust of Jack’s hips leaves Gabriel moaning into the polished wood beneath his mouth. It’s fast, and hard, and _rough_ – Jack hits his prostate almost every time. There’s a practised ease to his every motion, as if this is something they do every day, and not a relatively new role-reversal.

Gabriel is liberal about letting his low, gravelly voice resound throughout Jack’s office, but he also puts great care into not screaming outright. There are people outside their door, after all – and Jesse is a son to him. Gabriel shouldn’t be thinking of Jesse right now, though. It’ll be fine if a scream or two are heard; hell, those would only make the tales about the two Commanders’ legendary quarrels grow – but Gabriel doesn’t want them to. He doesn’t want to be confronted by Ana’s all-knowing stare once he and Jack walk out of this office. He doesn’t want to explain the intricacies of sex to Jesse.

And, above all, he doesn’t want to be forced to explain why he was screwing the Strike Commander not two weeks after Vincent left Jack.

Suddenly, Jack hits him _just right_.

All thoughts abandon Gabriel’s mind at that. The only thing he can do is move his right hand in between his own legs, and even that is much more an unconscious reflex than a conscious decision. It’s his primal body taking hold over his rational mind – and how fitting is that, considering how people seem to always view him as –

“Aren’t I good enough already, Gabe…?” Jack whispers directly into Gabriel’s ear, barely a raspy breath that leaves proud Gabriel trembling. “Do you still want more?”

Gabriel is frozen in time and space. He shivers, stays still. The hand he’d moved towards his cock is still wrapped around himself, tight enough to compliment Jack’s pace. Jack is doing a fine job of keeping Gabriel stimulated and interested – but damnit, he’s used to so much _more_.

It stings to think that he had moved as sneakily as he does when he’s on a mission, and yet Jack easily saw through his act. It says much more about the goody-two-shoes Strike Commander than it does about Gabriel’s stealth – after all, who could blame him for being slightly uncoordinated when he’s being pounded to high hells?

Another low groan escapes Gabriel, so close to a true growl, one of those that Jack wishes he could imitate, when the blonde suddenly moves as deep within him as he can. Gabriel braces himself on the hard desk, anticipating the hardest thrust yet.

But it does not come. Jack merely folds himself over Gabriel’s back and maintains the position, as tightly coiled as he would be while waiting to snipe a target. Somehow, for whatever reason, that mental comparison is enough to make Gabriel moan, although Jack is not a sniper, and neither is Gabriel.

“ _Por favor_ …” Gabriel pleas. The warmth of Jack’s chest pressed to his back is bleeding through their clothes, intoxicating, exhilarating. Gabriel closes his eyes, feels the heat on his face, too. He’s probably lucky that a blush is harder to see on his own skin than it is on Jack’s pale one – otherwise, Jack would be teasing him to no end already.

Then, Jack smiles – Gabriel can feel it against his exposed neck. Another tiny kiss comes his way, so light and loving, such a contrast to his punishing words and hips.

One of Jack’s hands covers Gabriel’s. It increases the pressure on Gabriel’s cock, and he half-moans, half-growls. Jack chuckles before moving their joint hands up and down along Gabriel’s length, slowly, as if they’re in no hurry. Gabriel moans, bites his lip not to get too loud. His hand slips off from underneath Jack’s – he can feel those long fingers caressing the back of his palm all the way – it makes him tremble again.

Jack waits until Gabriel’s both hands are back onto the desk. His right is glistening under the electric light; a tell-tale sign of how his arousal has painted himself and Jack in translucid white. Jack can’t help but catch Gabriel’s hand with his free one, can’t help but raise it, slowly bringing it up to his own lips.

Gabriel groans from the tiny kisses, from the delicate kitten-licks at the sensitive skin where his fingers meet his palm. His whole upper body coils tight as he gathers his impressive strength, using all of it to push himself and Jack away from the desk. Gabriel’s muscles burn from the weight on his back – though he’s noticed that Jack moved with him, not restricting his movement. He’s just maintained that prone position for a tad too long with Jack’s dick lodged deep within him, and his backside _burns_.

Jack kisses his knuckles again, gently, because he can be rough, but he’s never cruel. Gabriel’s hips tremble violently when Jack takes as much of those glistening fingers as he can into his mouth. Gabriel answers by growling, now sufficiently turned on to be unabashed about it. He rolls his hips backwards onto Jack’s cock, prompting him to keep up his pace.

Unsurprisingly, Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He never does; Gabriel always teases him that it’s because he likes Gabriel a bit too much. “Love” is a word that never flies, though – it’s only been two and a half weeks since the last time Jack pronounced it, and Gabriel is painfully aware that it hadn’t been directed at him.

Jack resumes his unforgiving pace, languidly jerking Gabriel off at the same time, as if it were an afterthought – merely a nicety he’s decided to grant Gabriel just because he can. The rhythm of his hips perfectly matches that of his wrist, though; never let it be said that he’s anything short of perfect in bed. As if Gabriel would ever spread any slander while he’s being toyed with in such a delightful way – after dancing this dance so many times together, Jack’s finesse comes as no surprise. However, the best part for Gabriel is how effortlessly he can abandon his pride, how wonderfully he’s reduced to a moaning, quivering mess underneath Jack’s touch.

And Jack loves it. There’s no two ways about it; he absolutely _adores_ this sight. He loves to see Gabriel coming undone under (or above, or beside) him. He loves it even more when he knows he’s the cause of Gabriel’s rolling pleasure.

The sight alone is enough to make him spill every drop of pearly white within him – and yet Ack would come undone even if it wasn’t – Gabriel just keeps on making those damned _sounds_ …

Jack would never admit to having watched even two seconds of a pornographic video, but that’s the only thing he can think of every time he hears Gabriel coming undone like this – and even that isn’t a good enough comparison. Gabriel’s moans and groans are just infinitely arousing to Jack, and those low growls he sometimes lets rumble throughout his chest, _oh_ …

Those are the ones that get Jack the most. Especially when he can both hear them and feel them on his own body.

Gabriel wouldn’t growl on command even if Jack asked him nicely, though. It’s one of those things that he sometimes isn’t even aware he does; if Jack had to guess, he’d assume that Gabriel is still slightly self-conscious of them. It’s one thing for the dominant one to get animalistic, he supposes; when the one doing it is on the bottom, though… It brings an undeniable contrast, almost an irony. Jack himself can admit to loving it, but he can also understand why Gabriel might not.

Another tainted growl drips down Gabriel’s parted lips, dripping heavily with that fierce darkness that is so much his own. Jack shivers, bites his lower lip not to moan – he would only get taunted for that, and he doesn’t really want to punish Gabriel more; he’s already aware of what this pace is putting him through.

He’s also painfully aware of how much those rumbling growls are turning him on. It fuels Jack with the impenetrable need to pleasure Gabriel until all he can do is explode in colourful fireworks. That would only be fair, since that’s how Jack himself feels – like he will paint Gabriel white any minute now. And wouldn’t that be so nice – _oh fuck_ – it’s always so nice to see translucid white coating the dark canvas that Gabriel has for a hide, Jack can’t get enough of that…

“You close?” Gabriel asks. Jack forgives him the use of English this time, because he wouldn’t be able to understand it had Gabriel spoken in Spanish. Besides, it’s obvious that Gabriel wants an answer.

“Yes.” Jack growls, his hips quivering. His pace has become erratic, uncontrolled. It makes Gabriel erupt into growled moans.

“Come inside me.” Gabriel orders, because he’s never been the type to beg, even when it would’ve been beneficial for him. Jack can appreciate that dedication, that fire – almost as much as he appreciates Gabriel’s voice being merely a dark, low whisper. Jack shivers. Regretfully for him, Gabriel notices. “Don’t you even hold back. Just come inside me. I wanna feel you.”

“Gabe…” Jack starts, sounding unsure in spite of the arousal coating his every syllable. Jack cannot help the halting of his hips, no matter how darkly it makes Gabriel curse him out for it; he’s always been hesitant to finish within his partners’ bodies.

Okay, maybe Gabriel became the exception right from the first time they switched – that time, Jack had been so impossibly turned on that he’d just _done it_ , unthinking. He’d apologised for the mishap right away, too, embarrassed, chest heaving with every breathe. To his surprise, Gabriel had just chuckled and pulled him close to his own body again, never letting Jack having the time to doubt himself.

Just like back then, Gabriel knows he isn’t going to let Jack doubt himself today.

“Don’t you _dare_ deny me.” He growls, snapping Jack right out of his own thoughts – because, when Gabriel growls, he sounds menacing beyond the meaning of the word. Jack doesn’t even need to see Gabriel’s face to know that he’s baring his teeth, just so the growl can slide out of his throat unobstructed. Gabriel can be fucking intimidating when he wants to, after all; and, right now, he’s cranking that shit up to eleven. “ _JACK_.”

The sudden growl of his name makes Jack moan uncontrollably, and it instantly reminds Gabriel of the sounds he can pull out of Jack when Gabriel is the one controlling their pleasure. Jack reels from the way Gabriel growled his name – it was lower in pitch, and louder in volume, than he’d been expecting; and much more dangerous than usual.

Gabriel moves his hips again, forcing Jack back into action by pure instinct. His body knows exactly how to undulate to give Gabriel what he’s asking for – _begging_ for, because that’s what these growls re, beneath all the demanding tones – so Jack just lets his hips act on muscle memory alone. It gives him more headspace to coordinate his hand’s movements.

Suddenly, Gabriel growls loud and wild, and Jack knows he’s hit the proverbial jackpot.

Jack doesn’t utter a word when Gabriel lays back down onto the desk, desperately trying to drown half his moans onto the wood. Jack lays on his broad back again, changing the angle and making Gabriel growl again. Jack moans into the curve of his neck, loving the fact that he’s pressed so closely to Gabriel, the one man who everybody in Blackwatch is deadly afraid of. Jack’s hips roll just perfectly, and Gabriel downright _moans_.

Jack shivers, softly nibbles on his neck – he’s being much too gentle for the action to be called a proper bite. He wants more of those moans, because they’re simply delicious to listen to; especially when they’re pressed this close together. Therefore, he keeps his hips rolling onto Gabriel’s, though not in a proper in-and-out – these are just constant and gentle waves, his pride buried as deep as it can go within Gabriel’s warm body.

 _Gabriel, Gabriel…_ Jack doesn’t even know if he’s repeating it inside his head or out loud. Either way, it sounds like a hushed whisper to his overstimulated senses.

“ _Jack–_!” Gabriel dissolves into another delighted moan before he can pronounce the full nickname he reserves for Jack. His voice breaks even sooner than that.

Jack holds him close, traps him in between his hard desk and his own harder body, manages to catch part of Gabriel’s come in his hands. Jack trembles against him, his world fading to pure white behind closed eyelids. He isn’t even aware of how loud he would be moaning if he hadn’t bitten down on Gabriel’s shoulder.

When Jack comes back to his senses, he’s immediately aware of Gabriel’s warm, comforting presence underneath his own body. Content and spent as they both are, there is still one worry quickly arising in Jack’s mind, kicking his senses into overdrive even as his enhanced body protests having to straighten his back without a second round in sight.

Gabriel is not moving.

“Gabriel?” There’s unbridled concern in Jack’s voice, evidenced by how he isn’t using any nicknames as he desperately runs his hands all over Gabriel’s body, seeking to provoke a physical reaction out of him.

They attended the same SEP to enhance their bodies, their stamina is more or less the same even when it manifests in different ways… If Jack is ready to go again, so should Gabriel be. Hence why this proneness worries him.

“Hmm…?” The rumbled answer, as low in pitch as his earlier growls, tranquilises Jack’s senses. The hand he has on Gabriel’s chest feels the sound rumble throughout his ribcage – Jack sighs out, caught somewhere between adoration and thirst.

“You alright, love?”

Jack bites his tongue hard enough for it to sing when he realises that he’s let the affectionate pet-names fly. It’s something he only does with his long-time partners, not with his one-night stands.

Jack also doesn’t have enough mental spoons left to analyse _why_ his brain used one for Gabriel.

“Yeah, I’m good…” Gabriel rumbles. His words are a bit jumbled together as he breathes. His stamina is regenerating as quickly as Jack’s is. “Am fuckin’ spent, though.”

“Don’t you mean, fucked spent?” Jack pinches one of his nipples, teasing him.

Gabriel chuckles – Jack can see that dark smirk when Gabriel moves, tilting his head to one side. At the same time, Gabriel moves one hand behind himself to slap Jack’s thigh. He was most likely going for a spank to Jack’s rounded ass; but their current posture forced the miss. Jack smiles at it.

“I dunno if I’d rather throw you out or fuck you ‘til you’re speechless.” Gabriel declares, commanding his voice to adopt the same authoritative tone he uses with his men out on the field. Jack would be worried about it if he couldn’t see Gabriel’s playful smirk.

“You can fuck me tomorrow night…” He mutters, smiling, feeling himself blush.

“Imma hold you to that.” Gabriel slurs. Pleasure is still coursing through him when Jack moves away, although Gabriel does wince a bit. “But I’m not gonna be this cruel.”

Jack immediately knows what he’s referring to.

“… I’ll buy a new bottle before the mission.” He promises, still flushed crimson deep. Gabriel gently slides him out, turns around in his arms. Jack kisses him, moaning when Gabriel deepens an already deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿Es eso todo lo que tienes? = is that all you got?  
> Joder = Fuck  
> Cabrón = asshole  
> Sí, Señor = Yes, Sir  
> Más = more  
> No pares = don’t stop [singular “you” form of the verb]  
> Ni una palabra en inglés = not [even] a word in English  
> Por favor = please


	2. Midway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: There are mentions of sexual themes throughout the whole chapter. In the last sub-division (after the third partition line), there are mentions of death, blood, combat-related stress, an explosion, and general violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Mijo” is a Spanish contraction of the words “mi hijo”, which mean “my son”. It’s more common in Latin/South America than in Spain, so I use it as Gabriel’s way of referring to Jesse.
> 
> The phrases in Spanish are translated in the End Notes.

Come next morning, Gabriel and Jack are standing side-by-side in Briefing Room zero-zero-one. It’s a huge room, big enough to hold two sizable contingents in it – and provided by the Overwatch headquarters. It’s almost strange to see Gabriel here, since Blackwatch has its own separate buildings to dwell in, but everybody in here knows better than to comment on it. And that includes Jesse, who sits in one side of the room, left shoulder leant against the wall. He’s trying his best to not let his surprise show – this is the first time he’s ever seen Overwatch and Blackwatch personnel attending the same meeting. Usually there’s a very marked separation, with Jack briefing Overwatch men and Gabriel doing the same to his Blackwatch black-ops teams.

But now? The white-and-blue uniforms of Jack’s soldiers stand out amidst the all-black sea commanded by Gabriel. Jesse’s serape is basically the only red cloth he can see in this room – aside, of course, from Blackwatch’s logo in the uniforms’ shoulders.

A yawn interrupts his thoughts, forces him to dissimulate the sleepiness coursing through him. The hour is still so unreasonably early that not even coffee has been able to wake him up fully; and damnit, he wants to go the fuck back to sleep. His sleep-deprived mind is too dispersed to even listen properly. But that’s okay, he muses as he tugs the tip of the serape back over his shoulder – Gabriel and Jack never involve him in their plans. Too young, Jack says; too inexperienced, Gabriel adds. Jesse used to try and fight against their decisions. Nowadays, he’s just about jaded enough to not care anymore.

“Understood?” Jack’s voice suddenly booms over the men, commanding the room with an easiness reminiscent only of Gabriel’s own. Jesse perks up a little, discreetly looks to the blonde Strike Commander. He’s reached the end of whatever speech he was giving, always much more romantic than Gabriel seems to be. Jesse knows them both personally enough to know they’re just as romantic, though.

For a tense moment, not a single soldier says a thing nor gestures anything. Jesse notices how an Overwatch lady warily eyes Blackwatch’s personnel – she doesn’t seem so keen on having them here. _Understandable_ , Jesse’s mind can hear in Gabriel’s voice, _we run the dirty jobs that they don’t want to even think about_.

The temperature in the room goes down various degrees when Gabriel’s dark gaze sweeps over it, once, deliberately slow. For all the pretty speeches and flowery metaphors that Jack can churn out, he’d got nothing on Gabriel’s ability to command a room. This ability of his is almost supernatural, Jesse decides with a shiver occulted by his serape’s heavy folds – Gabriel doesn’t look _at_ people; he looks _through_ them.

Slowly yet surely, Blackwatch operatives nod their heads, hands to their hips – it is true that nobody is holstering any weapons just yet, but Blackwatch acts like they are. It’s probably part of those intimidation tactics that Gabriel has drilled into them; he’s a master at phycological warfare, after all. That much has always been easy to tell from how he fights, from how he leads. It’s also part of why Jesse prefers to follow Gabriel in battle drills, rather than Jack.

Overwatch collectively gives Blackwatch the stink-eye and voices their approval of Gabriel’s and Jack’s joint plan. Perhaps fuelled by a desire of proving themselves better than their covert counterpart, Overwatch cheers the loudest, nods the most vehemently.

“Good.” Jack continues, as though he hasn’t noticed the disdainful looks that he’s getting from Blackwatch – it’s the same look Gabriel is getting from Overwatch. “To my men: come to Briefing Room zero-two-one within an hour for a more detailed briefing by me.”

Overwatch operatives visibly relax after that. It’s clear that they’d much rather be filled in by Jack than Gabriel. It makes Jesse’s heart heavy – why the hell can’t these stuck-ups see just how wonderful Gabriel is to have out in the field?!

“Blackwatch goes to Briefing Room one-two-one.” Gabriel adds, raising one arm over his head so that his men can notice him even more easily. The response he harnesses is basically the same that Jack gathered earlier.

“Free time until the by-unit debriefing.” Jack finishes with a flourish. “Until then, dismissed!”

Nobody needs any more flowery prose to be on their merry way out the door – it’s obvious that some things just don’t change, no matter what unit one serves in. Overwatch soldiers meet up immediately, because there’s strength in numbers, loudly proclaiming their distaste for this mission, for Blackwatch, for whatever ungodly entity decided to put them all in the same place.

Resentfully, Jesse finds himself agreeing. Overwatch is supposed to be the overt unit that everybody knows about; this type of operation is right up their alley. It will give them even more praise by the general public, and the United Nations will shower Jack with even more recognition. That’s what they need – staying visible. The population still has mixed opinions about Overwatch, especially about their ops at a global scale with just international supervision – it’s no secret that international organisations not always work as well as they should. This operation has been designed to give Overwatch the oomph they need, to gather positive reactions and the public’s approval.

Which looks damn fine on paper, especially if one can redact such noble intentions as prettily as Jack can. But it also leaves Gabriel in a much worse position, comparatively speaking. Blackwatch is supposed to stay hidden from view, and he _knows_ it, because the shadows are needed for the black-ops he leads – and yet Jesse can read resentment in his posture. Gabriel looks uneasy as he stares at the marching Blackwatch contingents, as if something about this whole mission isn’t sitting right with him.

Jesse admires his mentor a little too much than to question him openly. So he just rises from his seat. It’s easier to waltz across the room now, anyway; and he won’t get any snide remarks about bundling up so much while indoors. There are only a couple men still by the door – Blackwatch soldiers, judging by their dark uniforms. They’re keeping their voices down, but Jesse can still overhear them talking about readying their weapons and getting some last-minute aim practise in before the free hour is up.

“Jesse, come here. There’s one last thing for you.”

Intrigued by Jack’s words, though also highly suspicious of that resigned tone, Jesse changes his course. Instead of heading for the door, he swerves to his left and joins Jack and Gabriel at the room’s front.

Up this close, Gabriel looks even more uncomfortable in his own skin than Jesse had first noticed. Gabriel’s dark eyes keep on half-closing before he suddenly snaps back into full attention once again – has he not slept for long last night? Jesse hopes the mission hasn’t kept him up for hours on end; Blackwatch needs their Commander…

Hey, maybe Gabriel looks so much like the living dead because of that argument he had with Jack yesterday. Jesse’s gaze goes from his unlikely father figure to the Strike Commander, fully expecting him to look just as bad as Gabriel does.

A surprise: Jack seems as well-rested as usual. Which… good for him, Jesse thinks with only the tiniest frown, but it contradicts his guess. Honestly, Jack looks almost as if an enormous weight has been lifted from his broad shoulders. And, continuing with the metaphor like Jack would do in a speech, Gabriel’s own broad shoulders are hunching in with that same dead weight.

Jesse doesn’t think of himself as the jealous type, but even he has to admit that he _is_ jealous of the breadth of these two’s shoulders.

Because maybe, just maybe, if Jesse had that kind of bulk, people wouldn’t look down on him so much when he presents himself as a boisterous lad with great aim.

“Jesse, Jackie and I’ve been speaking about you.” Gabriel starts, his nickname for Jack slipping through his well-formed lips before he can stop himself. He sounds unsure of himself, too; and that alarms Jesse much more than Jack’s raspy voice did. He can feel himself getting defensive, on edge, the longer Gabriel speaks, “About how you always want to see real combat.”

“Yeah, and?” Jesse shrugs as if the topic wasn’t important. The serape slides down his left shoulder due to his motion, exposing his chest more than he’s prepared for. Jesse scrambles to cover himself up again. Neither Gabriel nor Jack say a thing about it. “You always say no. I’m fine. Really.”

“That’s reassuring.” Jack continues, easily picking up where Gabriel left off. Their coordination is getting as worthy of legend as their quarrels are, Jesse muses in silence. “But it’s not needed. We have decided to let you participate today.”

“But you gotta obey, _mijo_.” Gabriel adds immediately after, even before Jesse has gathered enough of his wits to give a half-coherent answer. Everything he can manage to give the two Commanders is a surprised blink – because _damn_. These two are perfectly compenetrated. “No reckless runs, no fanning your whole fuckin’ round to kill only one target. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” Jesse answers on autopilot, still somewhat lost to shock. He doesn’t even sound particularly happy about being allowed out on the field.

Alarm bells ring loudly within Gabriel’s brain, because he knows Jesse better than Jackie does – and he _knows_ that this blank expression doesn’t forebode anything good. He hopes it’s just because the allowance still hasn’t registered fully in Jesse’s conscience, and not because he and Jack have read the boy’s desires wrong.

Gabriel exchanges a glance with Jack. It’s everything he needs to convey what he’s read on Jesse. Jack raises one eyebrow; a second after, one corner of his mouth raises too. Gabriel bites the inside of his cheek to supress the urge to bite at Jack’s lower lip – that wouldn’t be proper, though. Not when they’re not behind closer doors. Not when his kid can fucking _see_ them.

“ _WAIT_. So I get to fight for real? That what you’re saying?!”

Ah, there is it. Their words have hit Jesse. The look Jack gives Gabriel is amused – _so it took_ this _long for Jesse to get it_.

“Yes, Jesse.” Jack is the first to speak, amusement still clear in his voice, in his handsome face. If the young gunslinger were less entranced, he would notice the charged stare Gabriel is burning through Jack’s form.

But then Gabriel looks to Jesse, and his gaze turns apprehensive once again.

“On _our_ terms, though.” Jack continues speaking, as if he hasn’t noticed Gabriel’s obviously high emotions. Jesse can’t stop looking from one to the other, smiling like he has a whole rainbow as a hopeful halo. “If you don’t obey, you’re out. Like any other man under our command.”

“ _Permanently_ out.” Gabriel punctuates. Somehow, he’s being the voice of reason in the room – but why does he feel like he’s giving Jesse an out; an out that he _shouldn’t_ have…?

Gabriel was the one who brought Jesse into Blackwatch – the one who plucked Jesse out of Deadlock’s grasp. The boy still has that awful ink on his arm to serve as proof of his true alliance; and it’s also half the reason why he hasn’t been allowed on the field until now. Sure, his limited age and experience are the official factors that get written down (they look better on paper, after all) but that is not the true reason why people avoid him at all costs – aside from Gabriel and his closest Blackwatch comrades, of course.

“Permanently out…” Jesse repeats, his voice lower in volume than it is in tone. He seems so deep in thought that Jack almost fears interrupting him – if Jesse is anything like Gabe, hell will break loose on anybody who interrupts his business.

Jesse’s gaze falls to the floor as he thinks. If the decision is already taken, nothing he might say now will sway the Commanders’ opinion to either side; but he still wants to say _something_ to confirm the decision. Besides, it’s clear that the “out” Gabriel mentioned would only apply to other missions, and not to him living in Blackwatch – hell, Gabriel told him he would make sure that nobody throws him out again. To Jesse, who has never felt like he truly belongs anywhere, that courtesy is praiseworthy. It’s something denoting Gabriel’s true colours – and no amount of badmouthing gossip will ever uproot that.

Suddenly, Jesse nods his head enthusiastically. He would salute Jack as thanks, because Gabriel has never needed such formalities from him. Truth be told, Gabriel never needs any formalities from anybody in his immediate team – the rest of Blackwatch isn’t excluded, though.

Jesse’s grin is broad and brilliant, just like the midday sun he always longs for. It is better for shooting, he says, much to Gabriel’s amusement. Then again, it was a given that the enhanced soldier would find his antics almost childish – Gabriel, just like Jack, has been trained to shoot no matter the weather conditions overhead.

“YES!” Jesse finally exclaims, giddy. He sounds so happy that even Gabriel has to smile. “What’s the plan, what’s the plan?”

“Weren’t you listening, _mijo_?” Gabriel slyly retorts, leaning one hand on his hip and leaning forward so he doesn’t tower so much over his son. Jack chuckles softly, brings a gloved hand to his mouth to hide his smile.

“It’s okay, Gabe.” Jack leans one hand on Gabriel’s arm. He sounds really amused – and how not, when he’s barely repressing his laughter.

Jack’s relaxed words cause Gabriel’s gaze to travel from Jesse to him. The boy is still much too spellbound than to pay them any real attention; and stoic Gabriel, who knows him better than any other person in Blackwatch and Overwatch alike, can tell. Gabriel’s own attention is pulled to Jack like a magnet to iron – and his serious expression tempers.

Suddenly, affection is painted clear in Gabriel’s factions. It lights his dark eyes up until they shine more chocolate than coal under the darkening light coming in from the window diagonally at his right. The skies might be threatening a downpour, but Gabriel certainly isn’t – Jack feels his warm stare before he sees it out the corner of his eye. Still, Jack doesn’t say a thing about it; that would render him much too vulnerable in this public place, and especially with Jesse still watching him with those rapturous eyes. Therefore, the only thing Jack allows himself to do is give Gabriel a sideways glance, merely a fair warning – _do not raise any alarms now, babe_. Jesse’s gaze is still glued to Jack; and the relationship between the two Commanders should still be kept a secret.

Jesse’s gaze shifts from adoring to questioning in the span of a millisecond. Jack swallows a bundle of nerves that tastes like rusted copper at the back of his mouth, fearing that Jesse’s instinct has gotten more acute over the last few weeks. Gabriel’s adoration is too obvious, even after Jack repeats his warning. He seems completely unaware of Jack’s feelings – a certain, familiar kind of panic is creeping up Jack’s spine, insistent and cold. It fuels him into speaking again, because it’s better to fill the gaps himself than to subject either Gabriel or Jack himself to Jesse’s sharp questioning.

“You must come with me, Jesse. I know you’d rather be out there with Gabe, but his part of the mission requires stealth, and…” Jack trails off, not wanting to accuse Jesse of improper attire – it would fall on deaf ears even if he did, because nobody respects the dress code via wearing Blackwatch’s official uniform. The most Gabriel shoots for these days is for his men to wear the sanctioned body-armour; but even that is a stretch. There are agents under his command who cannot physically wear it – Genji, for example.

“Those spurs ain’t silent, _mijo_.” Gabe finishes the sentence on behalf of Jack. He’s never had any trouble with harsher words, after all; and he knows for a fact that Jesse will not take it to heart. The little gunslinger would have to be delusional to not heed the truth.

“… true.” Jesse grumbles under his breathe, so soft that Jack almost speaks right over him without meaning to.

“Overwatch forces will be more numerous, but we’re also just a distraction. We’ll stay behind cover and keep ‘em busy, give ‘em something to focus on.” Jesse’s interest is piqued by Jack’s choice of words – it’s not every day one hears the Strike Commander break into his Indianan slang. Sure, it’d probably be more accurate to describe it as “North American slang” instead, but – “Gabe will lead a small Blackwatch unit, slip in from the back. If we do well, they’ll remain undetected.”

“Basically.” Gabe chimes in, knowing much too well that the less words they use, the better their men understand them. He doesn’t believe Jesse to be _that_ dull – he knows the boy is a quick study with a readied mind and a steady trigger-hand – but it’s better to prevent than to cure. Especially if that entails a visit to Moira’s lab; the lady is as sinister as she is tall. “I raise hell from behind, Jackie from the front, all Talon operatives becomes trapped between two fires, we win.”

Jack’s posture had started to relax upon hearing Gabriel’s voice – when he focus on what he’s actually saying, though, he cannot help but to raise an eyebrow in Gabriel’s direction. True, nothing he’s said thus far is necessarily wrong, but it still sent Jack for a loop. Usually, Gabriel isn’t as direct. He can get crude and dirty, yes, but he never crosses the line towards bluntness. Somehow, Jack’s mind feebly provides another possibility – that Gabe is always like this with Blackwatch troops, and Jack has simply never been to an official Blackwatch debriefing. Besides, all of Gabriel’s men will undoubtedly act differently than usual if Jack is in the room with them while Gabriel is giving instructions.

Hell, Jack cannot even guarantee that Gabe himself would still behave just like he does when he’s alone with Jack, right behind a sturdy, closed door.

“Yes.” Jesse’s voice breaks Jack’s conation. It’s evident that the boy has followed everything that has been said. If this were any other agent, Gabriel would be reminding him to address he and Jack both as _Sir_ , but this is Jesse – his relationship with Gabriel is close enough to be allowed to forego such formalities; and being close with Gabriel is the easiest way of getting close to Jack, too.

Well… not exactly. Getting closer to Gabriel Reyes, Blackwatch Commander-in-chief, is a titanic enterprise that requires a lot of time and effort. Jack knows it better than anyone, because he had to go through the whole nine yards before he and Gabriel became practically inseparable, back while their special training was taking place. Jack has always known that Gabriel had been warmer to him than he was to any other right from the start, though. Proud as Reyes was – and _is_ – he’s also been quick to jump to Jack’s defence. He was the first of them to start giving nicknames; and he was the first to proposition Jack, too. Back then, Jack had been forced to refuse by virtue of having had a long-term, closed relationship with Vincent – but that hadn’t impeded him from actively seeking out the weight and warmth of Gabriel’s body on top of his practically as soon as Vincent left for good.

“I’ve one question, though.” Jesse has raised one finger to point at the ceiling, so close to his hair that it reminds Gabriel of that Southern way of tilting one’s hat backwards a notch.

“What is it?” Gabriel asks, crossing his arms over his chest – he knows perfectly well that this defensive gesture will get read as such by Jesse, but he cannot help himself. This is a reflex act he has, a tell-tale sign that he suspects he’s about to answer an obvious question – well, obvious to _him_. If Jesse felt the need to poise it, then it’s definitely not obvious to him.

“Why are the briefings so long, you just said the same things in three sentences?”

Jack and Gabriel can only laugh at his candour.

* * *

That afternoon, the skies are overcast with future rain, the clouds so low that they almost create the impression of there being a dense mist. It really isn’t the best weather for Jack’s unit, considering they will battle head-on. At the same time, though, this whole plan’s success rides on Gabriel’s tactics, and the thick smoke of chaotic firearms will only benefit him. And that, in turn, will rebound in success for Jack, too. For Overwatch _and_ Blackwatch alike – something unprecedented until now.

Blame the United Nations’ complicated political make-up, or each of its member states one by one; it doesn’t matter. The point is that Overwatch had been concocted from the very start as the be-all-end-all force to win the last Omnic War; something they did through carefully coordinated strategies and heroic deeds alike. Meanwhile, Blackwatch was created after appointing Jack as the Strike Commander – and barely an afterthought, just a clean-up squad to trail behind the real heroes. Thus, no recognition has ever been given to Blackwatch, even though they run the highest-risk missions that the United nations doesn’t want to give to their precious Overwatch. It gets on Jack’s nerves just as much as it gets on Gabriel’s.

But how could Blackwatch get public appraise for their actions when the public doesn’t even know they _exist_?

Jack is much too aware of how heavily that lack of recognition weighs on some Blackwatch operatives, because they enlisted seeking fame and glory. Honestly, Jack can hardly blame them for that; around three quarters of his own men enlisted for the same exact reason. Of course, Jack himself is an exception – he’d been brought it directly from the Soldier Enhancement Program, or SEP. Just like Gabriel.

Still, Jack has seen that boisterous chase for glory one too many times to not be well-acquainted with it by now. Hell, nobody who has been in the same room as the German ex-Crusader, Reinhardt, can say they don’t know a thing about how earnestly Overwatch operatives seek the high of a glory-full battle.

Jack isn’t immune to such romantic approaches – his speeches wouldn’t be nearly as well-received if he was – but he also knows that both Overwatch and Blackwatch face real danger, albeit of very different brands. All of Overwatch’s missions are perfectly acceptable to political sensibilities, since they are personally curated by whatever United Nations intern on whom they’d delegated the responsibility – something that astonished and repulsed Gabriel on equal parts when Jack told him about it. There’s the odd chance of getting a mission from other Public Safety organisms, such as those Russian mechs or the German Crusaders themselves, but Jack hasn’t seen much of those lately. Which only reinforces his theory of there being a poor intern who’s been forced into giving them their missions.

Blackwatch, though… now that’s a _mare magnum_ Jack wants absolutely nothing to do with. Sure, he enjoys a good fight just as much as Gabriel does, but Gabe is hardcore is all aspects of his life – and work is no exception. Since he started talking to Jack about his black-ops missions, he’s already mentioned at least five different types of intimidation tactics, two very powerful psychological warfare strategies, and one colourful mechanism that can only be described as _torture_. Jack had cut Gabriel’s grim speech before he’d been able to give any details – hell, Gabe had later said that he hadn’t even _intended_ to give him any details in the first place.

That was the moment when Jack had realised that Gabriel Reyes might be a lot of dark things, but inconsiderate was not one of them. Since then, it’s become obvious that all those Blackwatch operations are taking a toll on him; and yet his first instinct is always to keep everything bottled up, instead of sharing it easily. Jack has always respected Gabe for it – Gabriel is always harsh and no-nonsense towards the world, but he’s just giving as good as he’s getting.

Jack sighs, gives the skies overhead one last glance before dismissing his thoughts. This is not the time to get lost in mental gymnastics about Overwatch and Blackwatch; he needs to concentrate on the mission ahead of them. He brings one hand up to his visor, activating its tactical vision function. The auto-aim it provides him with is a nice addition to his own military repertoire, although it locks him out of sniping his targets as efficiently as Ana Amari does. The sniper isn’t even on this mission – her rifle has been deemed too far-range for today’s close-quarters scramble.

When Jack turns his head towards his men, sweeping a passing glance over them, the visor’s light-blue hue covers his left eye’s vision. Some additional information about whatever he’s looking to at any given time appears on the upper and lower hems, encased in golden letters because they contrast nicely with the light-blue background. His men’s surnames and status flash quickly before his eye, giving him much more information than he can actually read. When Jack holsters his modified assault rifle towards a nearby rock, because he has it drilled to his head to never point a loaded weapon to somebody he isn’t prepared to kill, the information on-screen changes.

Distance, the wind’s force in miles-per-hour, the number of pulse bullets loaded, the number of rounds he has left.

Jack smiles – the visor works perfectly, as it always does. He’s never been able to shake the necessity of checking it before leaving Overwatch HQ, and again when he’s in the field, though. Every mechanical and electronic device can fail amidst a battle, leaving him to fend for himself with only his wits and true aim to aid him – not to mention being potentially isolated from the rest of his unit. That’s a hellish scenario that Jack has fought in during his drills, but not in real life.

Gabriel has, his mind insidiously points out. Jack almost wishes he could turn off his treacherous mind – at least that way he would be able to concentrate on the men under his command, and not on how Gabriel is leading his own.

Thankfully, Jesse arrives right then to distract him from his own thoughts, his gait cautious and contained. Jack sees Blackwatch in him, in the way he keeps one hand by the gun sheathed at his hip. Jesse is wearing his usual dark clothes; it’s the standard Blackwatch uniform. He cuts a grim figure amidst Overwatch’s blue-and-white combat armours – the image is broken only by the red serape wrapped around his broadening shoulders, obscuring the view of his armoured chest. All in all, Jesse looks just like one of those cowboys of old, Jack muses in silence. The mental image of Jesse herding cattle while riding a horse and holstering a lasso makes Jack smile.

Then, his mental image changes – now it includes Gabriel, who is dressed down into a tight pair of dark jeans and an equally tight, flannel shirt. Jack looks down to his rifle not to blush at the sheer force of Gabriel’s dark, slightly curly hair wavering in time with a gentle breeze.

The wind is blowing in real life, too – as evidenced by the movement of Jesse’s brown hair. He isn’t wearing his trademark cowboy hat, which mildly surprises Jack. He did hear Jesse telling Genji that he would leave his hat back at Blackwatch HQ, alongside something about not wanting to have it filled with neither lead or plasma; but Jack had figured that Jesse would change his mind the next second. After all, it’s so rare to see him without his cowboy attire that everybody has joked at least once that it’s glued to Jesse’s skin.

Jesse looks to Jack, smiles that attractive smile of his, and flings his serape over his shoulder to wrap it even tighter around his shoulders. The outlines of his armour are visible through the heavy serape, but Jesse doesn’t seem bothered by it. Jack has a feeling he would be quite anxious if the form were his own, and not the armour’s, though.

“Ready?” Jack asks to Jesse when he arrives by his side. The men closest to them discreetly move out of earshot, giving them as much privacy as they can in these pre-fight circumstances. Jack’s watchful eyes notice it right away – he doesn’t point it out to Jesse because there’s no need to do it; the boy has already noticed.

Truly like Gabriel’s protégé… Jack’s heart grows three sizes upon realising that Jesse looks just like he imagines Gabriel’s son would look like. Jesse looks just like he’d look if he had been assigned to Gabriel’s unit instead. Jack cannot blame the boy for that; he’s been assigned to Blackwatch since he joined their ranks.

The next thing that Jack notices is that Jesse seems nervous as all hell, in spite of the easy smile on his lips. There’s a decidedly bold glint within his eyes, though; another little detail that reminds Jack of Gabriel’s fire when out in the field.

“I think so.” Jesse says, trying his best to dissimulate his nerves. It does not work. “I’m not so sure why I’m here instead of with Gabriel. My aim is good enough for that.”

The smile that had adorned Jack’s factions until now instantly disappears.

Sure, he’s been anticipating this talk ever since he and Gabriel shared their plans with Jesse, but he is _not_ ready to have it _now_. Not to mention that Jack still has absolutely no clue about how to best communicate the truth to Jesse while avoiding a meltdown. It isn’t like Jesse doesn’t have any real experience; hell, Gabriel plucked him right from the _criminal gang_ that Jesse had co-founded! That fact alone should tell everybody that Jesse is not the harmless youth he might seem at first glance, Deadlock tattoo notwithstanding.

Jesse’s past career as a criminal is the bane of his existence in Blackwatch just as much as it is the bulk of his current experience, though. And _that_ is the problem. Nobody really trusts Jesse McCree, who suddenly appeared in the desert as one of the founding members of Deadlock, a quick-and-dirty gang that hits hard and disappears right after. It is a guerrilla tactic, almost; another reason why Jesse’s repertoire clashes with Overwatch yet fits perfectly among Blackwatch.

There are very few people who speak with Jesse on the regular, Gabriel being the strongest and most evident one; and only because he’s basically raising Jesse as his own son. Genji is on that reduced list too, although Jack isn’t quite sure about _why_ – perhaps they bonded over existential anguish or about having criminal backgrounds. Jack honestly doesn’t know any other Blackwatch person by their first name, though he’s seen the very tall O’Deorain talking with Jesse often enough to conclude that they’re on friendly terms. Probably. That woman makes everybody’s hair stand on end; it’s hard to imagine Jesse as the exception to that rule.

“Jack?”

Oh, fuck. He’s been silent for far too long already.

“It’s a concession Gabriel had to make.” He promptly blurts out, downright lying through gritted teeth. That’s better than telling the truth, at least – sex with Gabriel might be amazing when he’s half angry, but Jack does not want to risk it. Saying the truth now would only render Jesse half unable to focus on their mission; and it would also rile Gabe up into full-flown anger. “He asked me to let you come along, and I agreed; in return, he let me choose who to assign you to.”

Jesse falls silent, caressing the hilt of his impressively huge revolver with gloved fingertips. He holds Jack’s flickering gaze steadily, as if he can tell that the handsome Strike Commander is bullshitting. Jack feels almost like a little animal turning their head around, mind working overtime to try and work its way out of this dangerous mess. Jack tries to look away, unable to stand the sight of those golden numbers telling him that Jesse has all his rounds and flashbangs unused. Jesse raises his head, chasing Jack’s gaze with his own. He has to tilt his head backwards, though; Jack is taller by virtue of Jesse not having hit his last growth spurt just yet.

“I understand. I’m alright with that.” Jesse’s voice is firm, unwavering despite the nerves and the conviction that he’s being lied to. Jack’s mouth hangs half-opened, both his eyebrows shooting for his forehead – because, right now, Jesse’s resemblance to Gabe is impossible to deny. “No, really! I _am_ fine. I’ll follow you. Gabriel trusts you, so I do too.”

Jesse’s words let Jack know that the boy has misinterpreted his reaction; but that’s alright. It lets them both focus on the current mission, and not on whatever bureaucratic gymnastics had to be done in order for Jesse to be here now.

“Alright.” Jack smiles, softens his expression so that he isn’t unknowingly staring at Jesse. Jack’s pulse rifle feels heavy against his armoured torso when he frees one hand from the rifle’s handle to place it at Jesse’s shoulder. “You’ll do well, Jesse. But _please_ don’t expose yourself if you can avoid it.”

“Yes, Sir!” Jesse says – Jack is sure that the title has been added more for show in front of Overwatch’s operatives than because Jack requires it from him. He appreciates the firmness in Jesse’s voice much more, anyway. “I’m ready for the action!”

“I don’t doubt that.” Jack smiles. It does not reach his eyes. He is much too aware of what it feels to take a life; he does not want Jesse to experience that grief. Never mind that Jesse has probably already tasted that poison – courtesy of Deadlock. Jack doesn’t want to consider the implication of Jesse having learnt how to fan his revolver even earlier than that. “Focus on surviving, Jesse. Leave all the heavy lifting to us. Our objective is to create a curtain of bullets, so that Gabe can slide in undetected.”

If Jesse thinks it odd to hear Jack refer to Gabriel by a nickname, he doesn’t show. Jack internally thanks him for that – it’s already bad enough that he’s used it here, out in the open, where everybody can hear it.

Some of those golden numbers dancing in front of his visor’s light blue hue change to a bright red outlined in black to make them easier to read. It’s the sign he’s been waiting for – the one thing telling him that the plan is to be initiated now. Jack reads the few lines several times over, letting them sink into his system before relying the information to his men.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s move out!” Jack’s voice booms loud and clear, both through the air around him and through the intercoms that all Overwatch operatives are connected to.

Jesse is in possession of one, too, though exceptionally and only for the duration of this mission. He’s also thankful that his serape has hidden the brunt of the jump that Jack’s booming voice caused in him – somehow, he still hadn’t been prepared to hear the Strike Commander in full stereo surround. The sensation is eerie, foreign to him – he has not heard it like this ever before, not even during any of those special drills that Gabriel takes him to. Sometimes Jack joins in on the fun, grateful that he’s got a perfect match in Gabriel’s similarly enhanced body – together, they raise the difficulty bar until Jesse has no other option but to tap out if he doesn’t want to pass out from exhaustion.

Jesse still has no idea about what goes down in the training camps after he leaves those two alone – and, honestly, he doesn’t even want to know.

Overwatch operatives follow Jack onwards, mindlessly walking around Jesse as if he means nothing to them. Jesse bites his lower lip, suddenly wishing he could listen to Gabriel’s orders instead. At least him wouldn’t belittle Jesse’s abilities like this; confining him to the least necessitated unit just in case something goes wrong, as if that train heist Ashe had planned hadn’t gone down just as badly…

Someone nudges Jesse’s shoulder as he walks by, giving him a sneer through the heavy helmet he’s wearing. Jesse shrugs, unsheathes his revolver and pulls on the security lock until it clicks. His trusted weapon is a familiar weight in his hand. Jesse abandons all thoughts as he marches on too, hoping that the mission will not be compromised.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gabriel is cursing in colourful Spanish expletives within his head – the only reason why he isn’t doing it out loud is due to silence being key. His small unit is getting on his nerves, though not because it isn’t effective. They _are_ efficient in their kills, in their prowls, because Gabriel has drilled it into their thick skulls. But it’s also a really fucking _tiny_ unit – only two men and Gabriel himself.

Well, a man and a woman, plus Gabriel. If Genji can even be counted as a “man” anymore. Gabriel still isn’t sure why the youngster ended up in Blackwatch – sure, he is the most valuable asset when countering the tactics employed by the Shimada Clan, but he is also _young_. Gabriel read his file when Genji was assigned to Blackwatch without consulting him first; he’s exactly twenty-three years older than the cyborg. That little fact has the power to make Gabriel feel _really_ old – funny how it is not the same with Jesse, even though Gabriel is a good twenty-one years his senior, too.

Genji gives him a look, almost like he can tell Gabriel is thinking about him. His reddened eyes gleam menacingly under the electric lights, serving as testimony that he’s not fully human. Not that such a thing was unclear at first glance, of course; the mesh of robotic appliances and mortal flesh is easy to see in the exposed parts of Genji’s human physique. It’s been that way ever since Gabriel met him for the first time, and probably for longer than that.

In turn, Moira gives Genji a calculating look. It’s the same kind of stare a scientist would give to their experiments – Genji seems unaffected, but Gabriel knows exactly how unnerving it is to have such a stare focused in him. Moira has absolutely no right to study him so closely, anyway; she was not the one who brough Genji back to functionality – to functionality, because Gabriel doesn’t dare say “to _life_ ”.

That merit is entirely Doctor Ziegler’s. She might be the same age as Jesse, but her ready mind and kind hand at treating patients have already been revealed. Overwatch was quick in recruiting her as field medic, encouraged her use of a pseudonym – Gabriel understands that decision, too. Going by her codename, “Mercy”, will make it easier to return to a civilian lifestyle if she so desires. Genji has remained close to her, too, which doesn’t do him any favours in the eyes of his fellow Blackwatch operatives.

Oh well. Gabriel can’t even lie and say that he’s alright with having Genji here; he would much rather have Jesse by his side right now – and not just because he has an emotional link to Jesse that isn’t there in Genji’s case. Jesse is just a quicker learner and a great shot, although he still blows through his ammo like it’s endless. Gabriel makes a mental note to take Jesse to some special trainings to correct that vice.

And the woman he’s brought with him isn’t even supposed to be out here in the field… Moira is a brilliant geneticist, although quite a bad doctor by the hypocritic oath’s standards. Gabriel is also quite aware of her ongoing issues with that pretty Overwatch medic, Mercy – his reserves are more because Moira is absolutely _not_ built for these tight corridors. She’s too tall, too gangly; and the complicated apparatus she carries on her back is an added breadth to complicate things for her.

Gabriel sneers, presses his back to the wall and takes a look at the corridor ahead. It’s heavily guarded; too much so to be a viable way in. His other option is the zigzagging path on the right side of this room – and that one is too _empty_ to be safe. Gabriel has learnt the hard way to stay away from such obvious traps; he’s delighted to see that Genji is in his same boat. So far, Moira has only smirked and followed behind them – she _is_ a doctor, after all. It makes sense for her to stay two steps behind and out of the enemies’ view.

The signal to engage their part of the plan has not arrived to Gabriel’s comm yet. Which leaves him deadlocked with a cyborg who is much too eager to bathe his sword in crimson red, and a sinister scientist who isn’t helping at all. At least she isn’t hindering them, Gabriel figures – he just cannot help but feel like he’s just another test subject for her, merely one of those red-eyed white rabbits she genetically plays with.

_Qué coño estás haciendo, Jackie…_

Suddenly, the guards on the corridor ahead clutch their radios, which are for some reason still at their collarbones. Gabriel is half surprised to find that out; nowadays, it’s more common to use earpieces or intercoms. New orders must be arriving to these guards. Gabriel can only wish it’s Jack’s doing. Gabriel sees how the guards move out, away from their watchpoints, without ever exchanging a single word or glance between them.

The order to engage their plan still hasn’t arrived. But the opportunity to start has.

Gabriel makes a hand gesture to his men, not trusting the distance between him and the guards to muffle his voice into being impossible to hear. Genji unsheathes without a sound, his sword glistening sharply underneath the electrical lights. Gabriel blinks and misses the moment when Genji slices clean through one guard’s neck – he sees how the cyborg turns around in a flash. One of his shoulders is exposed, much like that whole arm, several pipes snaking around him. Gabriel doesn’t dare ask anybody about the wires and valves keeping his destroyed human body together – whatever mixture of electronics and humanity makes up Genji’s current body, it’s off-limits to talk about. It brings Genji too much pain.

The practised assassin doesn’t change his grip on that sword, but Gabriel is almost completely sure he must have – there’s no other way for him to have been able to behead the other guard so easily, so cleanly. Gabriel can appreciate a job well-done even in these gory conditions. Genji looks both ways, scanning whatever room the corridor leads to. Gabriel is about to ask him for confirmation that it’s clear when Genji turns around. He offers a tiny nod to his Commander while raising one hand to sheath his sword with that same easy elegance that he always possesses.

“He’s good…” Moira drawls from behind Gabriel. Her voice is not unpleasant to listen to, but it still makes the hair on the back of Gabriel’s neck stand on end.

He offers her no reply, and neither does Genji. Moira doesn’t seem perturbed by it, anyway. She and Gabriel step over the bleeding corpses as carefully as they can, aiming at keeping their soles clean – bloody footsteps might be a cliché, but they’re also easy to track. If this was an infiltration mission, they would’ve taken the time to hide the corpses, maybe even taking their uniforms as disguise. Gabriel lingers, legs on either side of a man’s corpse. He’s more or less the same height as Gabriel, though not as triangle-shaped.

Genji’s mechanical mask lets go of some steam. It’s silent, which Gabriel is glad about. Surprisingly, Genji has proven himself to be one of the stealthiest members of the entire Blackwatch corps – Gabriel wonders if it’s a by-product of Genji’s training at his family clan, or a new addition through all those cybernetics.

“Let us go.” Genji’s voice is mostly human, though heavily altered by the mask he needs to wear to not choke to death. Or at least that’s how Jesse explained it to Gabriel – and Jesse’s information had come from Genji himself.

Gabriel gives the corpse underneath him one last look. He’d been tempted to use infiltration tactics now, to add confusion to the mix when his unit converges with Jack’s, but Genji is right. They need to move. They don’t know – they _can’t_ know – how narrow or wide this newfound time-window is. Employing different tactics would be too much trouble – and Jack’s forces might not be able to tell which men donning Talon’s colours are which. Too high a risk, with too little a reward.

Gabriel nods to Genji, looks over his shoulder – and promptly meets Moira’s slim shoulders. Damn, that woman sure is tall… if Gabriel wasn’t so secure with his own body proportions, he might even be jealous of Moira’s height.

When Gabriel moves down the corridor, he doesn’t even issue an order to hide the bodies. While it’s true that his unit will slide undetected more successfully if there is no trail behind them, hiding them would be too much hassle. Again, the time constraints are a pressing issue. And the illusion of false security could only be maintained for so long, anyway; especially with a plan like the one they have today.

Gabriel holsters his twin shotguns higher. He doesn’t have any aids to aim, unlike Jack. Gabriel has taunted him about it a lot of times, although he can see the benefits of such devices – and riling dear Jackie up is always fun.

No, this won’t do. If he starts to think about how Jack is doing his mission, he will fail his own.

Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest, hangs his head low to take a deep breath. His eyes are closed, which would give him a serene appearance if it weren’t for the frown; and the stern line of his mouth doesn’t help, either. He can feel Genji’s focus on him for as long as he keeps this posture, but that’s alright. It serves to free his mind from lingering thoughts about his blonde – about the _Commander_ , the official leader of this op, his mind immediately corrects him. Gabriel sharply resents the mental slip-up – he prides himself in being able to separate private from professional affairs, but that ability completely disappears when it comes to his Jackie.

And here Gabriel goes again, thinking about the handsome Strike Commander.

He suppresses a groan and shakes his head, dark beanie so firmly put over his hair that not even a lock escapes its confine. Moira and Genji give him a questioning look, as if wondering about their Commander’s sanity. Gabriel’s sole response is a very dry order to secure the room.

Genji takes to the task as efficiently as he does everything else, one hand curled around the hilt of his sword. It can’t be an easy posture to maintain for long, Moira muses as she inspects him with an analytical gaze – Genji keeps his sword on his back, so unlike those swashbucklers of old. The cyborg takes to the far side of the room quite naturally, almost like his instinct has been alerted to something in it. Moira snickers at his diligent approach and moves towards the opposite corner. Genji’s reddened eyes follow her as she goes – if he were the type to gossip, he would be complaining that she’s merely acting as though she was doing something useful, but without actually doing it.

Meanwhile, Gabriel uses up all the precious seconds he’s got to himself to further examine the room. Its dimensions are the biggest that Blackwatch has encountered in this building so far; although the metallic glint of its dirty floors is the same no matter where they go to. The walls around them are reinforced with thick metal plates, which Gabriel assumes is an attempt at bullet-proofing it – a foolish move, since most bullets nowadays are made of plasma, and not of lead. Gabriel can appreciate the enemies’ mishap, though; it rebounds in his own benefit. Sure, it isn’t like he’s going to open fire against a naked wall just because, but–

“Lookit ‘ere.” Moira’s voice rings clear, partially thanks to the room’s slight echo. Her Irish accent is suddenly too evident to be ignored – another little proof of how both Blackwatch and Overwatch recruit people from all over the globe.

Gabriel heeds her words, and unabashedly so; he knows he’s been so lost within his own mind that both Moira and Genji have had more than enough time to survey the whole room. Moira is standing next to a large piece of equipment at the front of the room – a controlling console, maybe. It’s almost as huge as the several screens mounted on the wall above it. All are alight with greyish images of the building’s exterior; and the figures in the cameras’ fields of vision are moving. Gabriel’s training kicks in before his mind does – suddenly, he knows that these are real-time transmissions, and most likely from a close-circuit system.

The next thing his training leads him to question is why his unit does not have a tech specialist. It would’ve made this mission a hell of a lot easier; especially because he has no idea how to operate this console. Gabriel knows for a fact that Genji doesn’t have that knowledge either – for all the mechanic and electronic pieces in his new body, he’s never seemed eager to learn any details about them. And Moira might be brilliant in her chosen field, but she’s not gifted in technology.

Oh well. The situation is what it is. Gabriel knows better than to let frustration, or even despair, sink in. He’s too used to finding himself in tight spots – this is not his first rodeo, as Jesse would say. Maybe Jack would have more trouble upon finding himself in the middle of an all-out war with the odds against him. Gabriel, however, knows perfectly well what that feels like. He goes to every mission assuming he’ll feel like that again. He knows he can’t wish the situation to magically improve. Therefore, he just discards every concern and goes back to his quick survey of the console and the security cameras above it.

“The room is secure.” Genji whirrs in a mechanically distorted voice.

Gabriel thanks him with a little nod, trying his best to not let his slight discomfort show. There’s absolutely no need to make the cyborg feel even less welcomed in his unit than he probably already does. Moira snickers again – Genji downright _glares_ at her. For a very tense moment, Gabriel fears having to separate those two; strife within his unit is the last thing he needs right now.

Moira lays off more easily than Gabriel had assumed she would. Genji’s hand is still around the hilt of his sword – a veiled threat. Everybody knows how quick he is with that deadly weapon, Moira included. It’s no wonder, then, that she physically backs off.

Gabriel lets go of the air he was holding, lets his gaze run around the room just to dissimulate the surge of nerves that racked his very core when he thought Genji was going to attack Moira.

“This is not the central system.” Genji’s sounds more tense now, perhaps due to his little standoff against Moira. “We could hit their security system badly if we tamper with this, though.”

“None of us know how to do that.” Gabriel retorts, trying his best to keep his tone firm and professional, but without openly antagonising Genji. The fact that he does not have a tech expert with him stings him acutely once again.

“We could destroy it.” Moira points out, shrugging both her shoulders.

“And send the whole lace into a lockdown?” Gabriel sends a sharp stare her way, biting back with more viciousness than he’d intended to speak with. Moira doesn’t even flinch at his tone, though; she’s already used to the Commander’s temper. “No. We cannot risk that. It would compromise the entire op.”

“Then what? We just move out?” Moira retorts before Genji can get a word in. It is not fair, Gabriel thinks – English is a mother tongue to both him and Moira, but Genji has no such luxury. He should be afforded all the extra time he might need to think about his words.

Gabriel doesn’t need to look at Genji to know he’s thinking much the same thing. Moira feigns ignorance and leans a hand on the console’s edge. She’s so tall that just that small gesture causes her to hunch over. Genji’s expression darkens visibly, despite the mask occulting the lower half of his face, when her long nails scratch over the console’s metal surface.

Gabriel accuses it just as acutely; his brow furrows impossibly tight as he stares Moira down. He doesn’t like her last proposition, but what else can they do? They are a tiny unit right now; too tiny than to prescind of any of them. Genji is absolutely needed in the field, because he’s equipped for stealth, for quick takedowns – much like Gabriel himself, although Genji’s sword is more silent than Gabriel’s twin shotguns. That leaves Moira as the potentially expendable one; however, she’s the only medic that they have brought with them. Genji might be swift, but he’s also a close-quarters combatant who tends to need proper, regular healing. Moira is also a key integrant in this mission, then.

Gabriel feels like tactics are failing him – an unwelcomed and unnerving sensation to have; even more so when he’s the most prominent strategist in Blackwatch. There’s not a person in Overwatch who can match his genius in this field, either; or at least that’s what Jack says when he wants to flatter Gabriel into kissing him again.

_¿Qué haría Jackie…?_

“Moira. Genji.” Both turn their heads to look at Gabriel, whose suddenly uptight body language makes Moira raise an eyebrow, silently questioning his intentions. “Let’s move out.”

“Yes, Sir.” Genji’s words are almost completely lost in between the gentle puff of steam that escapes a valve at the lowest part of his neck, almost his collarbone. It’s strange to hear him address Gabriel by that title – usually, he’s just “Commander Reyes”. Gabriel doesn’t recoil against the unusual title, though; it feels proper coming from Genji.

“Sure.” Moira straightens her back, her long nails once again scratching against the metal. Both Genji and Gabriel glare at her at the same time – now it’s clear that she did it on purpose. Moira smirks one of her deeply unsettling smirks at them.

Gabriel doesn’t feel like arguing with her, so he lets go of the issue.

The corridors they take to advance twist in on themselves at odd angles, almost as if they’ve been designed to prevent a fast-paced chase from happening. They draw such a complicated labyrinth that Gabriel has to resort to mentally mapping the whole area to not get lost as he leads his unit forward. Genji gets confused by the winding hallways four shameful times – Gabriel has to glare at Moira to keep her from barking some colourful expressions at Genji.

Moira rebels against his scowl by curling her hands, long nails glistening under the electric lights overhead. She could easily claw someone’s eyes out with those things, Gabriel realises with a shiver occulted by his combat armour. Still, her primary weapon remains connected to that broad structure she carries like it’s a backpack – somehow, she found a way to have both healing and damaging flows in the same container. Gabriel has no idea about the science behind it; he only knows that she heals with her left hand and attacks with her right. There’s an argument to be made about her ambidextrousness – or there would be if Gabriel hadn’t seen her writing with her right hand.

The next half-comical moment is provided by Gabriel himself; he almost gets off-course and enters the wrong side-room. Genji steers him correct, rectifying their unit’s course. They’re headed for true north – that’s where they’re supposed to rendezvous with Jack’s forces, trapping Talon in the middle.

And speaking of their enemies – they haven’t really seen much of those since they entered the building. It makes Gabriel suspicious, and suspicion isn’t a good look in a Commander – it renders him skittish, quick to doubt and slow to trust. His biceps twitch in a reflex act that he cannot control at all. Gabriel hides it by holstering his shotguns higher, aiming to the empty air in front of him. He almost misses having a clear enemy right in front of him… that would give him an outlet for the bundle of unnamed emotions coiled tighter than tight within his chest.

Gabriel doesn’t even dare think about how the closest thing he has to a family is outside, under the heavy fire he can hear resounding through these empty walls. He will make sure that no failure overcomes his beloved two today – it is _his_ responsibility, _his_ burden to bear. Jesse and Jackie need not worry about the strategic side of things, for that is Gabriel’s weight to shoulder.

* * *

Jesse gasps, taking cover almost too late. The laser bullet grazes his left arm, cuts right through the cloth to draw a deep-red gash over his Deadlock tattoo. An acute pain racks Jesse’s body. He leans his back on the fallen debris he’s sheltered himself behind, empty revolver close to his chest, and looks down to his own arm.

There’s no blood; a grave testament that the wound has been cauterised as quickly as it was caused. Jesse has never liked plasma weapons for this very same reason – Angela says they’re far more dangerous than regular bullets; and, since she’s the only field medic Jesse trusts, he heeds her words. He vaguely recalls Angela saying something about laser-wounds not closing as quickly as regular wounds do. But his attention is too scattered to focus on memories.

“You a’ight, kid?!”

Jesse raises his gaze and looks to his left upon hearing the loud words, which are somehow audible over the fight’s ruckus, over the flying bullets. There’s an Overwatch soldier behind the same debris as Jesse, his automatic weapon leant on the debris’ upper edge so that it will absorb part of the impressive recoil. Jesse’s gaze is pulled to the man’s heavy pauldron and bulging biceps – this is no time to feel jealousy over others’ muscles; alas…

“Yeah! Gotta reload though!” Jesse answers in a scream. The intercoms work fine, but he cannot help the reflex to shout over the ongoing conflict. The man keeps shooting quickfire rounds, snarling a wild smile that deeply unsettles Jesse – this is an expression more commonly associated with Blackwatch, and yet this is an Overwatch man smiling it.

“Good lad!” Suddenly, the man comes down, takes full cover. Flashing bullets fly through the space where his helmet was a second ago. That wild snarl-smile is still there. “That’s the spirit!”

Jesse’s grazed arm protests when he moves it to get more bullets for his revolver, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. He, however, is not sure if his rising fear is showing.

This Overwatch soldier grins like he _enjoys_ war.

Rattled to the marrow, Jesse looks away from the soldier. His gaze falls to his lap, where his revolver’s chamber is pulled out of its mainframe. Jesse slowly starts to reload manually, bullet per bullet, lead encased in a coppery jacket. He only reloads five, aware that he still has a spare shot that he’s intentionally keeping unfired – remnants of his days as a Deadlock founder, when that spare bullet could be the difference between being dead or still alive. His hands tremble as he clicks the chamber back into the revolver’s frame. The pain in his arm has almost dulled into the physical equivalent of background noise. Jesse wishes he’d heeded Gabriel’s advice of investing in a speedloader.

_Where the hell are you…?_

“Where the hell are you?! Gabe?!”

Jesse jumps in his boots, coming dreadfully close to the top part of his cover. He quickly scrambles back down, drops with his back against the rubble and his thighs spread just enough to let his revolver rest in between them, clutched so tightly that his knuckles are going white underneath his black gloves. Jesse shivers, unable to control his reaction to his head’s external echo – no, wait.

That deep, stern voice that just called out for Gabriel hasn’t come from within his own head.

Jesse clicks the revolver’s chamber back out for a moment, suddenly wanting to make sure all six bullets are loaded. They are. Good. That’s good. Jack’s voice booms in his comm, louder than bullets, louder than the snarling Overwatch man by Jesse’s side. He doesn’t dare peek over the cover while there is such a heavy barrage raining directly over it. Jack had told him to not expose himself unnecessarily. Jesse intends to heed that word. Gabriel would tell him the same, too. So Jesse will shoot less and take more cover. It doesn’t matter if Overwatch gets mad at him for that, for not “contributing to the fight” – they’re already shouting at him over the comm – Jesse _will_ obey his orders.

“ _I’m here!_ ” Gabriel’s voice resounds authoritative in Jesse’s ear, gravelly despite the intercom’s usual distortion. Just hearing him at all sends a wave of relief throughout Jesse.

Suddenly, he can understand perfectly well why Gabriel and Jack always look so fucking _stressed_.

“We’re gettin’ fried!” Jack exclaims. A flash grenade goes off right outside their cover. The Overwatch soldier roars and charges out of Jesse’s sight, his heavy weapon not stopping its quick rounds. “Jesse!”

“Jack!” The Strike Commander is by Jesse’s side in a flash. The grenade’s light ends softly, though it started so sharply. Somehow, Jesse is one-hundred-percent sure that he’ll get chewed into a bloody pulp for not using Jack’s proper title.

“Gabe, we _need you!_ ” Jack downright ignores Jesse, though the latter cannot help but notice that Jack is keeping himself close to the boy. It’s as if he cannot show outright favouritism, but still wants to do right by Gabriel’s “son”. “Help us!”

Jesse brings a hand up to the earpiece. His grip is tighter than it really needs to be, because his emotions are all over the place. It’s just so strange to hear Jack _begging_ like this – no, not just strange. It’s _surreal_. Jesse’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. A tiny part of him wonders what expression Gabriel has on his face right now – he loves hearing that others need him, even though he acts high and mighty all the time. Jack’s confession must surely feel nice.

Or at least Jesse imagines that having someone need you so acutely must feel nice.

More bullets fly over his head. A downpour of molten lead. Jesse screams – Jack swiftly pushes him more fully against the rubble. Somehow, whatever little protuberance is at the top keeps Jesse’s hair intact.

“What the fuck?!” Jesse curses. He’s been in tight spots before, thanks in no part to Ashe (or anybody in Deadlock) not knowing how to build a half-coherent strategy.

“Plasma melts lead.” Jack answers, as cool and collected as if he were discussing the weather. Jesse stares at him, utterly incredulous. Their cover is somehow still mostly unharmed. Jesse is grateful for that. “They’ve mixed weapons, Jesse. Our reports didn’t say it, though.”

The more Jesse stares, the more he realises that there’s a lot of tension coiled in Jack’s bulging muscles. He holsters his gun over the top of their cover and fires a couple quick rounds. Then, he comes back down. Red plasma rays go through the spot where his head had been mere seconds ago. Jesse doesn’t know if he should be horrified by this disaster of a battlefield or impressed at Jack’s super-soldier training.

Jesse is still staring at Jack when it hits him.

He wants to see Gabriel. They both do.

But, at the same time, Jesse _doesn’t_ want to see hair nor hide of Gabriel, because not seeing him means that he’s safe, away from this hellhole. He would still love to hear more of his voice, though. Gabriel is Jesse’s Commander, after all – more than that, he’s his trainer and father figure. Jack can’t even come close to that.

_… does Jack have this same dilemma, too?_

“ _Five to your left, ‘tween the rubble!_ ” Gabriel’s voice resounds loudly through the intercom. It takes care of Jesse’s problem – and Jack’s, because he felt it too, even though he didn’t admit it out loud.

Despite the timely warning, Jesse finds he can barely move. He raises his weapon, pointing blindly in the direction Gabriel pointed out to him. Jesse absolutely cannot aim. He can barely breathe.

Someone moves to Jesse’s left. Jesse moves gun first.

“Nice shot, kid!”

“Thanks, _papá_.” Jesse mutters. His own voice sounds foreign, distant, to his own ears. Like it isn’t his own. Jack looks at him. He’s shocked. Maybe a bit disturbed too.

A chorus of snickers over the intercom. Some voices repeat that last word Jesse said. It’s a sound directly from the depths of the abyss. Just like this whole battlefield.

“ _Stay put, Jesse_.” Gabriel sounds professional, but also a little bit mirthful. Like he’s supressing a smile, and almost failing. “ _This is almost done_.”

Jesse’s shoulders slump. Still, he smiles. It’s feeble. But it’s a smile. He opens his mouth to answer. He musters all the wit and cheer he can find within him. There must be something he can retort with. Something semi-innocent and jolly. Something that will get Gabriel _and_ Jack smiling too. They need to have a lighter thing in mind right now. There’s too much stress all around.

A loud explosion. Jesse can’t string two words together before it hits. He’s thrown forward, over and away from the cover, away from Jack. Gabriel extends a hand, throws one of his shotguns aside, tries to take Jesse.

He fails.

Jesse lands roughly. Breathless. His ears ring badly. He can’t move. The ground is cold. And hard. He’s lying face down. His right hand clutches his revolver. He can’t let go. His vision goes in and out of focus.

Blurry figures around him. Jesse can’t focus on them. Something thick is slipping around little mountains on the ground. It’s red. It tastes like copper when it comes out of his mouth.

Strong arms gather him. Jesse can’t see anymore. He can’t move either. He slides down. His brain doesn’t respond. It just doesn’t work. His eyes close. It doesn’t make any difference. He can’t see anyway. Something is dripping down. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

The last thing Jesse will ever remember thinking in this moment, broken English failing him, is, _hope serape ain’t redder…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qué coño estás hacienda, Jackie = what the fuck are you doing, Jackie  
> ¿Qué haría Jackie…? = what would Jackie do…?  
> Papá = Dad


	3. Uprising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Injuries, Mentions of Blood, Angst, Mentions of sex (no actual sex happens).
> 
> Disclaimer that any background characters (not part of the OW main cast) are my invention only. Any resemblance to real-life people is coincidental, not intended. Their names are made up, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Spanish phrases are translated in the End Notes, though I tried to make them easy to understand in context even if the reader does not speak Spanish.
> 
> And so start Overwatch’s internal problems… Hopefully, Gabriel and Jack still see eye-to-eye.

Jack sighs as he closes his eyes. His head rolls gently against the wall behind him. It’s the same hard wall he refuses to stop leaning his back on, fearful that he’ll fall on his knees if he does. For a moment, Jack refuses to open his eyes again. The sterile smell of a sterile room is already unbearable enough; he doesn’t need its sterile sight, too.

Exactly thirty seconds later, Jack reopens his eyes. Darkness might be comforting to him right now, especially while in a room so white, but he cannot afford such a luxury. He can see Gabriel right in front of him, sitting on the only chair in this part of the medbay, right by the only occupied bed in the whole damned place.

How ironic is it, that every exposed soldier has come out of the mission unscathed, but the only one Jack and Gabriel had wanted to protect is…?

“What happened?” Ana’s voice is quiet, quieter than her footsteps had been when entering the room. Jack hasn’t even heard her coming. He never does. He silently wonders if Gabriel has.

Ana must be feeling their pain, Jack muses in utter silence. He doesn’t feel like he should be speaking; not when he’s only weighed down by a mistake that he knows he did not commit. Then again, Jack is pretty sure that this has not been Gabriel’s fault, either. But he understands why this gravity is keeping them both down – two super-soldiers who haven’t been able to save the only one who they wanted to keep safe.

Ana frowns, although neither Jack nor Gabriel see it, and aptly keeps herself out of Gabriel’s reach. Jack notices it and immediately feels even more miserable – he can _feel_ Gabriel’s need for some comfort irradiating off his posture.

Jack’s hand twitches by his side.

Then, it morphs into a tight fist – because he _needs_ to control himself. If Gabriel is grieving on Jesse’s behalf, then Jack needs to be the one keeping them all afloat. He knows that Gabriel would do the same for him if their positions were reversed. Besides, their bond is strong – stronger today than it has ever been. Ana will undoubtedly notice it now, if she hasn’t caught wind of it already, but Jack can’t even care about that now. Not when the one most important to his heart is hurting so much.

Impotence sinks in further into his core at the realisation that he is utterly unable to physically do anything. He can merely will the situation to be better and hope that his desperate desire will materialise in the near future.

Suddenly hyper-conscious of the weight of Ana’s gaze on him, Jack forces himself to swallow despite the bitter taste in his mouth. It tastes exactly like what Jack figures wet cotton would taste after being impregnated with tar. Disgusting. Revolting. His stomach threatens with emptying, although he hasn’t eaten anything since before their disastrous mission started. Jack feels his abdomen shake beneath the cloth and armour – instinctually knows it’s not due to only nausea.

Because, if Jack feels awful, then Gabriel is a million times worse.

Gabriel, who agreed to let Jesse see real combat for once.

Gabriel, who is father and brother and Commander to Jesse.

“Jack. Gabriel.” Ana’s accented voice is still soft – almost deceptively so. She’s a sniper, an assassin. She doesn’t mince her words; she never does. And this fuck-up is something she would, and most likely will, give them both hell for – and rightfully so, Jack muses. His stomach trembles once again, fear and unnamed emotions running wild all throughout his system. “What happened to the boy?”

Jack knows that Gabriel has heard her voice just as crystal-clear as Jack himself has – thank the medbay’s oppressive silence and relatively crisp acoustics for that. Still, Jack is the only one who truly shows any sign of having heard her at all. Gabriel never looks away from Jesse, who lays unconscious on the bed by Gabriel’s chair.

Unimpressed with both Commanders’ attitudes, yet understanding the intricate whys for each one, Ana simply makes a face. Her prolonged sigh feels just as heavy as the rest of the room’s atmosphere while she moves closer to Gabriel, who is still shrouded in complete silence. Gabriel doesn’t look directly at her, but it’s clear that he’s noticed her careful approaching – suddenly, his muscles tense so much under his dark t-shirt that Jack fears they’ll bulge right through the thin sleeves.

Thin, yet sturdy, cloth. Gabriel is still wearing most of the clothes he wore while out in the field. Somewhere along him finding Jesse bleeding on the battlefield, he’s lost his trademark beanie – seems to have taken off his armour and comm, too. They’re all very small changes, Jack realises with a pang he feels down to his very soul. Too small. It’s been eight hours since they came back from that fiery hellhole – less than seven since a rushed surgery began – a _field intervention_ , Angela had called it.

Eight hours, and Jesse has not yet woken up.

An apparently easy mission for the one out there for the first time ever, and yet Jesse is the one who ended up lying on a medbay’s bed, face up and unconscious. His left elbow is a study in white gauze and bandages. There’s so much red bleeding through it that Ana feels like past battlefields are replaying themselves within her mind if she focuses on herself for too long. A criss-cross of more bandages covers Jesse’s stomach, enveloping his lithe body like his serape does. Coincidentally, both those things are red. A gentle hand, probably Angela’s or Gabriel’s, has draped a pristinely white blanket over the boy’s chest – one of the very few parts of him that remains unscathed, thanks to his Blackwatch armour.

It’s a good thing that the boy is unconscious, Ana muses in silence, despite what Gabriel may think – being lights-out is the only thing keeping poor Jesse away from utter agony. Ana knows that phantom pains will rack the boy’s lithe body for a very long time in the years to come, though. And, to top his desolation off, Angela has discontinued the hormone treatment she was overseeing (and approving) for Jesse. And _that_ will hurt the poor boy more than the loss of half his arm ever will.

Given his state, it truly is no wonder that Angela said he wouldn’t wake for days. Jack clearly remembers her slightly accented voice telling him and Gabriel about Jesse’s post-intervention status. Gabriel had been only a solid, dark presence by his side, too impatient to sit by Jesse’s side to even let Angela use proper, medical terms. It got to such an annoying degree for the poor doctor that she ended up telling him off in her own native tongue, uncharacteristically losing her professional demeanour for once in her life.

The mere sight of Jesse’s prone, lithe body makes Jack’s heart ache profoundly – it hurts just as much now as it did upon seeing him for the first time after Doctor Ziegler stormed off. Of course, Jack doesn’t know Jesse as well as Gabriel does – the boy serves in Blackwatch, not in Overwatch, after all – but Jack hurts just the same.

Jesse is wounded, which makes Gabriel hurt, which in turn makes Jack hurt.

Ana moves just slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. For a sniper who can stay in the same posture for hours on end, waiting for her target to appear in her sights, she sure is restless now. Gabriel’s muscles tighten even more – realisation sends a very acute pain through Jack.

Gabriel is squaring up, deliberately overt, because he expects to be bodily dragged away from Jesse’s side.

Jack shivers, uncomfortable beyond what that word can truly encompass, but still leaves his trusted white wall to stand closer to his beloved. He hopes that Ana, who has a child of her own blood, will understand why Gabriel has not left Jesse alone.

“What happened, Gabriel?” Ana asks for what feels like the millionth time. Since Jack is standing behind and slightly to the side to Gabriel’s right, unconsciously covering his off-hand, she moves to his left. With a hand lightly leant on Gabriel’s left shoulder, Ana’s all-knowing gaze goes from Gabriel’s unabashed grief to Jack’s reluctant yet firm guarding of him.

Jack flushes under her scrutiny, even though this is definitely _not_ the time to fear her rattling off to whoever higher-up in their chain of command who would listen to tales of two soldiers on opposing units fucking each other. _She_ does _know about us, fu_ –

Gabriel relaxes again upon having Jack so close to him. He’s ambidextrous now, and more than dangerous enough to not need a bodyguard, but the truth of him relaxing still remains as that – an irrefutable truth. Jack’s fingers dance over his dark green t-shirt when he thinks that Ana isn’t looking. Underneath his gentle touch, Gabriel’s muscles don’t bulge so much anymore.

It seals Jack’s resolve to remain close to his heart and soul.

The beat of silence that had followed Ana’s words and gaze extends even further. It feels charged, neither man really knowing what to do or say. For a moment, Jack fears that their wordless _status quo_ will summon Ana’s legendary temper. Her rage rivals only Gabriel’s, although hers is much, _much_ quieter – ever the sniper, as Gabriel would remark. He usually says it as friendly fire to rile her up a bit, because it amuses him to see her lose an ounce of her calm demeanour. As if he had the prevalent death-wish required to ruffle the feathers of a highly skilled assassin.

“Someone betrayed us.” Gabriel starts. He sounds rough and coarse, like he hasn’t used his voice in centuries. There’s so much _grief_ within his every word that Jack’s heart breaks into a million tiny pieces, just like that glass ornament Fareeha sent toppling down that one time. She’d claimed to have been practising her aim; Gabriel had joked that, if the glass had been her target, she truly was getting better, and not even Ana had chastised her. “ _Cabrón_ … who the _fuck_ caused all those explosions at the end?! How the _fuck_ did our ‘watches admit him in?!”

“You couldn’t have known.” Ana raises her left arm, retrieving something from the depths of her pockets. Her right hand is still leant on Gabriel’s shoulder, soothing him, just like she does after Fareeha or Jesse wake up from a nightmare. “If anything, that one isn’t on you, Gabriel. I’ve heard you control your men quite monarchically… I know nothing could escape your scrutiny.”

The implicit accusation makes Jack’s head reel. When he speaks up, he feels like he’s spinning through time and space, maintaining a conversation with people on a plane of existence while he himself is in a completely different one.

“You mean… someone in _my_ unit… in _Overwatch_ … caused _this_?”

“I’m not pointing any fingers.” Ana replies, voice still gentle and low. She never raises her voice unnecessarily – and this _is_ a medbay. Nobody ever raises their voice in a medbay, infirmary, hospital. It’d be extremely poor manners. “I’m just saying that, this time, Blackwatch isn’t as sinister as people think.”

“That _is_ pointing fingers. Just not physically.” Gabriel quickly replies. Whether he’s defending Jack or attacking Ana is undetermined – Jack hopes this is Gabe taking a stand in his favour, Ana’s suspicions about their relationship be damned.

“I’m not here to fight.” Ana takes her hand away from Gabriel’s shoulder. It feels like taking away his source of comfort. Rattled by such a simple gesture, Jack can’t help but stand closer to Gabriel, until his own body brushes against his with every breath they take. “We have bigger problems. We shouldn’t fight among ourselves.”

“Save the sermon for the motherfucker who did this to Jesse!” Gabriel growls. In any other circumstances, the shiver running down Jack’s spine would’ve been an excited one – now, though, he can only feel danger.

Something is… not quite right with Gabriel right now. It’s the same passionate zeal he displays whenever someone he’s loyal to is in danger. But Jesse isn’t in danger… at least, not right now. Doctor Ziegler – _Angela_ , codename Mercy – has told them so. And she’s a smart lady, an efficient Doctor. She must be right. And Gabriel knows it.

But he also feels bloodlust start to consume him, tinting the edges of his vision in a vicious red.

Jack can read it in his whole posture, in the oppressive aura surrounding him. And _that_ is far more dangerous than Gabriel’s usual rage. Usually, the danger can be diffused by Jack letting Gabriel fuck him right to the brink of passing out, until he’s overstimulated and feeling just as gone as Gabriel’s rage makes him feel like – albeit in a completely different sense.

This murderous aura will not be unsummoned so easily, though. Jack fears it will not disappear until Gabriel has shown his hidden enemies just how bloodthirsty and cruel the Blackwatch Commander can get – and why _he_ is the one in charge of interrogations, despite having other qualified people in his ‘watch.

Jack also knows perfectly well that this own moral compass is skewed enough for him to not have any room to try and convince Gabriel to not hunt down those responsible for Jesse’s injuries. If their positions were reversed, Gabriel certainly wouldn’t even try to discourage Jack – he would only offer him his assistance.

Ana, however, _does_ have the lawfulness to at least _try_ to dissuade the other two members of their little triumvirate from engaging in a vengeance that can’t ever end well. And she definitely _should_ , too.

“That… “motherfucker”, as you so eloquently put it, is not the top priority.” Ana swings her left arm around Gabriel’s shoulder to hover a small item over his lap. Jack is sure that, if Gabriel didn’t have such a bad habit of spreading his thighs whenever he sits down, she would’ve let the item rest atop his lap instead. “ _This_ is our priority right now.”

Jack leans forward to spy at whatever Gabriel is looking at. It’s a holo-tablet, one of those little handheld devices that operate much like a miniaturised computer. Neither Jack nor Gabriel are especially partial to them, but they can recognise their practicalities – even though most people only ever use them to play video clips and be used to read. Its light-blue screen betrays its origin – Overwatch standard-issue.

Another flash of sudden guilt bolts through Jack.

“I’m sorry…”

“You couldn’t have known, either.” Ana is starting to sound annoyed; and that’s scary. It doesn’t bode anything good for neither Jack nor Gabriel. “Just press play, boys.”

Usually, Gabriel would jest about her age in comparison to his own and Jack’s – the three of them are close enough in age that, if they’re just boys, then she’s just a girl, too – unless the five-year gap in between Ana and Jack somehow gives her higher ground. But, even if that were the case, Ana is only two years older than Gabriel. Jack is younger enough to accept her authority on certain matters, judging her the expert with the more life-experience, but Gabriel certainly is _not_ on his same boat.

At any rate, that is not what startles Jack the most.

No, what makes Jack grow anxious to the point of bordering restlessness is the utter lack of mirth coming from Gabriel. Usually, after such a quip from dear Ana, Gabriel is the first one to tease her back, ever quick-witted and silver-tongued. Then Jack would join in, and together they would double-team Ana in a verbal fight – until suddenly Gabe would turn towards Jack and start teasing him. From then on, anything can happen. Most commonly, it ends in Ana retreating to Fareeha and Jesse to keep both kids entertained and uncurious while Gabriel lets Jack have his revenge on him behind closed doors.

But now Gabriel’s sole response is to do as she says.

There’s a tightly-packed ball of dread right at the pit of Jack’s stomach as he leans forward to watch the holo-tablet too. It refuses to leave while Gabriel moves – and Jack’s heart leaps all the way up to his throat.

Because Gabriel is leaning back against him.

It’s an extremely subtle gesture, because they’re still trying their utmost best in lieu of their relationship staying undetected by Ana’s watchful eyes, but it’s there. And it’s enough to warm Jack’s little heart, and even to reconstruct some of those tiny pieces that it had broken into. It’s not much from Gabriel, and that murderous aura is still very much there, but it _is_ a start.

And Jack will take it.

It turns out that Ana had prepared a video clip to play immediately upon Gabriel pressing the corresponding, triangular button on the centre of the screen. White horizontal lines cross the screen as it loads properly; the audio is desynchronised quite badly during those first seconds, too. Jack frowns – he’s always hated it when perfectly acceptable tech suddenly refuses to properly work. Gabriel, however, remains unmoving. Ana observes them both more acutely than she does the video; it’s obvious that she’s seen it beforehand.

The video focuses into a frontal view of an empty stand. It’s short and thin enough to cover only the speaker’s legs, although nobody has stepped up to the dreadful task of public speaking just yet. There are a bunch of microphones mounted on top of it – so this is a structure prepared specifically for a hasty press conference. Jack knows the intricacies of such set-ups quite intimately, since he’s had to deliver flowery speeches and explain militaristic terms in simpler words to the civilian population. Truth be told, it’s the only part of being Overwatch’s Strike Commander that he can confidently say he abhors. Gabe certainly doesn’t have to put himself through the same perils, seeing as how Blackwatch remains a mystery to the general public.

Jack swallows as a figure walks from out of frame, coming closer and closer in profile until it occupies the dead centre of the screen. It’s a masculine-looking figure, all sharp lines and an aquiline nose. The video is tinted too blueish to tell if their skin is dark or fair; a horizontal white line crosses right over their eyes the moment they turn to face the camera.

“ _Following another impressive success for Overwatch’s heroic efforts, I, Naasir Deberaux, hereby declare the Untied Nations will be much obliged to join forces with our most esteemed colleague, Mister Dos Santos_ …”

Gabriel frowns deep and dark upon hearing such a horrible mispronunciation of Portuguese. In all honesty, Jack cannot tell the difference – but he figures that Gabriel’s knowledge of Spanish makes him more prone to easily pick up Portuguese words. Both those languages have the same roots – alongside Italian and French, although Gabriel doesn’t speak those. Idly, Jack wonders if Gérard would understand Portuguese easily, too.

“… _to provide our newfound favourite heroes with the latest technology available in nowadays’ markets. This will be done to ensure the further success of our most beloved taskforce, as well as promote intercontinental and interstate relations at a henceforth deeper level._ ”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up, towards the sterile, white ceiling. He’s quite used to the particular brand of demagogy and bureaucracy their United Nations overseers prefer, but this truly is another different level. Ana leans in to pause the video right then, distracting him from his thoughts.

“There we have it, boys. Trouble.” She declares, dark eyes glinting sharply under the medbay’s electric lights. “I don’t really know how it can be “intercontinental” if the UN isn’t based in any continent… but here w–”

“So what? We get some new toys, that it?” Gabriel cuts through her words without any contemplation whatsoever. He doesn’t even mention her mocking tone at the word “intercontinental” – another little sign that he isn’t thinking clearly right now.

“No, Gabriel. We don’t.” Ana replies gravely, and presses play again.

The video skips in a flurry of white lines. They invade the screen horizontally and diagonally, like the worst burst of static Jack has ever seen in a holo-tablet this shiny and new. Then, the screen goes fully black, as if it was turned off. Jack can see Gabriel’s dark reflection on it – all marked lines and silent rage. He’d be the very picture of exhaustion if his wrath weren’t such a powerful driving force.

When the video resumes playing, the scene has changed drastically. It’s footage from a security camera, all greyish tones without pristine white nor stark black. There’s a figure on the camera’s field of vision, dressed in full-body armour, a pistol in one hand and a dagger in the other. Gabriel leans forward like he’s trying to discern details through the badly-pixelated feed – Jack groans at that; he cannot see anything now that Gabriel is in the way. He places a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and uses it to physically pry him back against the chair’s backrest. Gabriel’s growl at his actions masks Ana’s amused snicker almost completely.

“It’s not detailed enough for an identification.” She says, amusement clear in her voice, as if those words will prevent Gabriel from doing as he pleases. “A pity… meet our traitor.”

The figure on the screen turns around before either Jack or Gabriel can reply. The quality is as low as she’s described; but the logo on the figure’s pauldron is clearly visible anyway.

“ _Overwatch?!_ ” Jack exclaims, now becoming the one who is leaning forward.

“Fuck – _off_!” Gabriel growls each word out one at a time, rolling his shoulder with all his upper body strength. It’s enough to push Jack’s weight off him.

It soon backfires. Jack moves one hand to either armrest, keeps Gabriel’s body in between his biceps – and effectively keeping Ana out of their little power-play. She does not seem to mind, though; she merely rolls her eyes like she does when Fareeha and Jesse act especially immaturely for their respective ages. Thankfully for Jack’s and Gabriel’s badly hidden relationship, the chair’s backrest remains as a separation in between Jack’s chest and Gabriel’s back – otherwise Jack would’ve gotten another menacing growl for his troubles.

“Children, _please_. I know the video is silent, but _stay still_.” Ana chides them both. She sounds just like she does when she’s chastising Fareeha and Jesse.

“Fuck off. What the hell do you want us to see?!” Gabriel growls, almost roars. It is too loud for a medbay, because there’s a slight echo to these walls, but he doesn’t even care.

Jesse is too far gone to be disturbed by his harsh words. Ana can take it. Jack led the unit in which the traitor served – he can either deal with it or get out of Gabriel’s sight. He isn’t going to hold back because of Jack. Not today.

… today? Tonight? Fuck if he knows. All he knows is that his whole body hurts like it only does after a long, hard op. His heart lays shattered, too – because he can’t help Jesse no matter how hard he tries. Even if he hunted the traitor down, the last shot and the decision to kill clean or torture first is Jesse’s to take. Gabriel would never _dare_ take that away from him, because he knows that Jesse wouldn’t take that away from Gabriel if their positions were reversed.

The figure in the video has been idling around until now, never contributing to the flashes of white at the edges of the screen. Jack doesn’t know his explosives as well as he probably should, but he still recognises the sudden bursts as flash grenades. They’re easy to identify after having been a target for their throwers not even a full day ago.

“This is our last mission.” Gabriel sounds half confused, half intrigued.

“Didn’t I just say that this is your traitor?” Ana sighs, leans both her hands on her hips. It’s a very matronly gesture – not strictly motherly, but definitely a gesture that Jack can imagine a matriarch doing. “I know you’re hurting just as bad as he is, but please do try to pay attention.”

Jack doesn’t need any further explanations to know Ana has just compared Gabriel to Jesse. It’s crazy to think that, in a way, she is right.

Gabriel doesn’t answer her; he just focuses on the screen in his lap. Jack catches himself staring to the tablet as much as he stares at Gabriel’s crotch – heady memories overwhelm him for a moment, and he promptly blushes. Ana gives him a knowing look that makes him even redder. Gabriel raises an arm, makes a gesture to the both of them. It’s reminiscent of a physical signal he’d give his men while out in the field, Jack notices. He’s certainly seen it in drills before – and he’s had the same signal taught to him, though Blackwatch tactics require it far more often than Overwatch’s own.

_Children, please_. Gabriel’s version.

The figure on the screen suddenly walks to a piece of heavy machinery that they should have absolutely _no_ idea how to use. Jack is about to point it out – he didn’t take a tech specialist into a mission where his sole purpose was to be a gun-manning distraction – when the figure on the screen moves.

“ _¡Cabrón!_ ”

“I agree, even though I don’t know what you just said.” Ana sagely nods her head in Gabriel’s direction. He’s fuming as he watches how the traitor pulls levers and presses buttons with a remarked dexterity. It’s clear that they know what they’re doing; they move between the consoles and plug different utilities like they know exactly what is going to happen.

The flashes at the edges of the screen get more constant, more brilliant. The white covers almost the whole left side of it, going insofar as the dead centre. The figure walks towards the camera and disappears – Jack can only guess that they’re right below it. He’s not sure how a camera mounted in a room with so much delicate, expensive equipment can have such obvious blind spots, either.

“Fuck!” Jack exclaims, startled enough to jump slightly, when the figure’s helmet suddenly occupies the whole screen. The armour is too heavy to let any of their visage be seen – something that Gabriel is seething about.

Then, the camera goes black.

Unsurprisingly, Ana is the first to move. She retrieves the now paused holo-tablet from Gabriel’s lap in one fluid motion, raising it until she can see its screen more clearly. Jack watches her, still hanging on either side of Gabriel like he’s the anchor keeping the Blackwatch Commander afloat.

“So. That is all.” Ana says after turning the device off. “I’m sure you’ve already noticed, but these two vids are linked. I don’t know exactly how, though.”

“Keep the intel from everybody.” Gabriel says, not looking at neither Jack nor Ana – something which makes Gabriel sound even graver than he already does just by virtue of having a naturally deep voice. “I cannot trust Overwatch now. _We_ cannot trust Overwatch.”

“As much as it pains me to do so…” Ana starts gently, looking only at Jack. He knows her well enough to recognise that she’s not trying to deceive him; her words are as sincere as they appear to be at face value. Jack’s skin is still prickled by how ready she and Gabriel are to exclude Jack just because he serves in Overwatch, though – and doesn’t it make absolutely no sense to not exclude Ana too? She _is_ Overwatch too.

Jack lets out a little growl that is nowhere as menacing as Gabriel’s own can be – it has the desired effect, anyway. Ana physically backs off slightly, because she’s smart and knows that both Jack and Gabriel could bodily tear her to shreds without a weapon if they truly wanted to. Jack doesn’t miss how she still stands her ground verbally, though.

“I mean it, Jack. It _does_ bring me pain to exclude basically three quarters of our forces.” If Gabriel feels offended by how, apparently, Blackwatch is not even half of their full manpower, he doesn’t show. Jack’s gaze goes from him to Ana, silently appreciating her attempts at calming them both down. They betray her natural kindness – she might be strict, but she’s not heartless. It’s truly a pity that Jack doesn’t feel any warmth in any of her words, “… but I agree with Gabriel on this. We should work alone, the three of us… we don’t know how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

“You cannot decide to detach me from you both!” Jack finally explodes. His retort is more biting than he really should let himself become – and yet, he truly cannot help it. An attack against Overwatch has always been a personal attack against him. “I refuse to let myself be divided from my men! That’s what they want, don’t you see?! Divide and conquer!”

“We don’t know that.” Ana reminds him. She’s being quite gentle still – her words are the velvet hiding the steel of her truth. “We don’t know anything.”

“To hell with that!” Jack gets away from Gabriel, puts some distance between Ana and himself. As much as he respects her, looking at her is hurting him. “I cannot abandon my _men_ , Ana! That would make me the same as that bastard!”

Ana ignores his vehement pointing to the holo-tablet in her hands, merely waits for Gabriel to speak. Jack’s pride and code of honour might tell him that he has a point, but Gabriel’s own code of conduct is the only thing that could steer Jack away from those noble ideals. With Jack being the overt one, ever the elephant prancing around mindlessly in a glass shop, she hopes that Gabriel’s natural tendency to avoid the spotlight will take central stage now – as ironic as that statement is. His marked proclivity towards remaining undetected might sometimes be a royal pain in her ass, true; but it might be the only real strategy they have to uncover their traitor without giving any intel away to whoever might be listening in, whether in Overwatch or even in Blackwatch. Again, their triumvirate simply doesn’t know enough.

A single beat passes in silence after Jack’s words, both men undoubtedly waiting for Ana to add some more scathing words to metaphorically knock them upside the head with. Alas, they wait in vain; she’s already said everything she needed to say. In her eyes, everything that remains still unfinished is Gabriel taking control of the situation with his quick mind and quicker plans.

And, honestly speaking, Ana knows more than enough about their shenanigans while in the SEP than to recognise how co-dependent Gabriel and Jack can sometimes be – she’s counting on that, even. Because, the moment Gabriel takes control of the situation and starts ordering them around as if they were part of Blackwatch too, Jack will follow him without hesitating for a single second. Ana is not proud of having to resort to these low tactics – but if they work, then they work.

And yet Gabriel stays silent.

His thighs are as parted as they were before, because he either spreads them wide or crosses one over the other when he sits, but now both his elbows are leant on his thighs. The posture makes him lean forward, until he’s looking down to the floor in between his arms, in between his boots. He looks like he’s positively _seething_ , ruminating a secret plan which he doesn’t want anybody to find about – a stereotypical assumption, perhaps; but a correct one nonetheless.

“I _can’t_ , Ana.” Jack pleas, unabashed when it’s only the three of them. They have been carrying the weight of Overwatch _and_ Blackwatch on their shoulders since before the organisations even existed officially. If there’s anybody whom they can trust with that weight, it’s the other two. “I just… we’ve all worked so hard. And now? You really wanna throw all that hard work away because of _one guy?_ ”

“Are you sure that was a man?” She immediately questions. “The video is unclear, and the armour is heavy. It could be a woman, it could be an Omnic…”

“ _No_.” Jack denies it both in words and in gestures, shaking his head so violently that the longest strands of his hair end up sticking at odd angles. Usually Gabriel would love to be able to tease him for it, but he isn’t even looking at Jack right now. “I only took men with me this time. Call me what you will, but I know for a fact the traitor is a man. I can contrast their biometrical data against the video, and–”

“And _what?_ ” Gabriel interjects. The sheer gravity of his voice, coupled with how these are the first words he speaks in a long while, startle Jack. He heeds Gabriel’s words just as attentively as Ana does – curiously, that says more about her than about Jack. “You gonna show that vid to someone? Someone who you don’t know might know the traitor in the vid? Don’t fuck with me, Jack. I know you cannot do that yourself.”

“He can’t fuck with you, or he can’t contrast the data?”

“ _Both_.” Gabriel’s growl in response to Ana’s half-hearted mirth is a huge wave of cold water over her. Jack watches, unable to do or say anything, as her expression morphs into the perfect picture of seriousness. But then Gabriel turns his words against Jack, all wrath unleashed despite his stare being focused on the ground between his thighs. “Fuck you, Jack. You’ve been playin’ the hero for so long you don’t even remember how to run undercover anymore.”

“I admit that that is your specialty, and not ours.” Ana cuts in before Jack can offer anything more vitriolic. She can see the arguments coming, though – there’s no stopping these two once they start, for good or for bad. They’ve always been like this. Stubborn to the marrow, refusing to see the other’s side when they believe themselves to be right. It’s the only thing keeping them like this – dancing around one another, _and_ their feelings for one another, even though they’re clear as day to Ana’s watchful eyes. “I know you know how to do your job, Gabriel, but… be careful. _Please_. Do it for me, for _Jesse_ , if you don’t want to do it for Jack.”

A deep and uncomfortable silence follows her as she leaves the room just to not get caught in the crossfire, silently leaving two opposing hurricanes about to break into a thunderstorm on her wake.

* * *

Gabriel takes a deep breath and tries to concentrate on the task at hand. He’s never minded having to file so many reports all at once, but tonight is different from an ordinary night. Firstly, there’s the fact that he’s only halfway through, because his brilliant idea of coordinating Overwatch and Blackwatch operatives in the same mission hasn’t pleased anybody at the United Nations. Secondly, his left wrist is already complaining loudly, the bone cracking every time he rolls his wrist to avoid getting carpal tunnel from exertion. His shotguns aren’t light, after all; neither in weight nor in colour – and, even though he _is_ ambidextrous, writing is just one of those things that he feels better doing if he does it left-handed. It makes his every word much more legible, too.

His wrist cracks loudly again when he’s right in the middle of a particularly long-winded sentence that sounds so much like something Jack would say in one of his flowery speeches that Gabriel recoils much more from it than from the pain. _Joder_ … the combined pressure of wielding his shotgun plus having to write this much within the same day is…

… Gabriel cannot even believe it’s still the same day. It feels like he’s just come back from the field, accompanied dear Jesse to rest in the medbay, argued with Ana and Jack. Gabriel’s erratic state of mind seeped right into his soul, weighing him down like very few things can. He tells himself that not bothering with the reports until now was a tactical decision, one taken in a split second to favour the immediate priorities and tend to the wounded – it is pitiful how he cannot believe even in his own reasonings anymore.

Gabriel hopes this won’t impact Jesse’s judgement so badly, too. Although it most likely will. This is no small trauma to go through – not that any trauma is ever small, of course. Gabriel has learnt that truth the hard way. He knows better than most what a life of constantly lying down and strapped to an operating table can do to a human mind.

Jesse…

A pang of pain racks through Gabriel’s body, interrupts him while he’s still in the middle of a word. _Machinery_ became _machin_ , and that doesn’t even sound like a half bad acronym. It’s also not the point.

The point is that his thoughts lay in shambles. He cannot concentrate. He couldn’t concentrate to save his own life. Acute needles pierce his heart – not the flowery metaphor for gentleness that everybody sans Jack say he lacks, but the actual, physical organ within his chest. Gabriel knows he isn’t an easy man to move to the point of tears, and he’s got the reputation for it. But then…

… then why is it that all he wants to do is curl by Jesse’s bedside and not let go of his boy until he wakes…?

“Knew you’d still be in here.”

Gabriel doesn’t lift his gaze from the papers on his desk. There’s so little light that his skin seems as dark as its wood, visible due to him having forgone his shirt altogether. He is all alone; there’s no need to keep up any appearance. Or he was until Jack wandered in, unannounced and uninvited. Like he always does.

“Mind if I linger? Don’t really wanna be alone.”

“Easy for you to say.” Gabriel rasps, almost growls. He can clearly hear the trace of impending tears in his voice – and he hates it. He hopes Jack cannot hear it, wishes he won’t point it out.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, babe.”

“What’s _that_?” Gabriel lifts his gaze from the paper to Jack in time with his words, infusing them with the threat that his body language conveys. The black-inked pen is still in his left hand – an improvised weapon if need be.

“I said, I’m not goin’ anywhere, Gabe.”

Jack shrugs faintly after speaking, as if this is a matter of no consequence. Gabriel notices that he’s out of his usual uniform – he shed it after visiting Jesse, then. Instead of his usual regalia, Jack’s donning a skin-tight t-shirt that leaves no curve to the imagination and a pair of equally skin-tight jeans. Gabriel straightens his back just so his gaze can go down enough on Jack’s body to notice that those jeans ride low on his hips. Gabriel hums in appreciation of the tease of fair skin in between the t-shirt’s hem and the jeans, right below Jack’s navel.

Jack opens his arms, looks down to himself, and spins around. Gabriel cannot help but think that Jack is downright offering himself to Gabriel’s greedy gaze. Alas, it is not working like Jack probably expected it to. Sex might be quite a nice distraction for Gabriel most of the time, but not now. Not tonight. Not with Jesse unconscious – and _alone_ – in the medbay.

Because, upon taking him under his wing, Gabriel had told him that he wouldn’t be alone even while surrounded by people. It’s high time he fulfils that promise. After all, nobody can predict exactly when Jesse will awaken; and Gabriel can file reports as easily on his own lap as he can on a proper table. It’s a mechanical job.

Distracted by Jack as he is, he almost completes the half-written _machin_ with _ical_. When Gabriel catches himself, he frowns deeply, mutters the word under his breath just to test its sound. And there’s no two ways about it – “machinical” makes no sense. That’s absolutely _not_ what he intended to write. He can feel Jack’s curious gaze on him as he re-reads the start of the phrase, trying to remember where he left it off.

“ _Machinery_.” Gabriel growls as soon as he remembers. Jack echoes his voice with a little snicker of his own, evidently amused. Gabriel writes the rest of the word, reaches the next full stop before he asks, “ _What_?”

“Nothing. I just forgot how fun it is to watch you like this.”

“Like what? Doing a job that should be yours?”

“The plan was your idea, babe.”

“How did you just call me?”

“Gabe.”

“Like hell you did.”

“You’re _that_ tired, huh…”

“The fuck you mean.”

“You’re hearing things already. Gabe, you need to sleep.”

“And you need to keep a tighter leash on your men. Yet here we are.”

In any other circumstances, in any other moment in time, Jack would’ve retorted with another teasing remark. But these are not any circumstances; as evidenced by Jack’s expression darkening.

“I will look into it, Gabriel.” Somehow, some-why, Jack’s usage of his full name instead of his preferred nickname _hurts_. Gabriel grimaces, puts a plastic cap on the pen’s pointed end, and throws it onto the desk. He would’ve done it without covering the inky part, but he doesn’t want to risk ruining these reports. He’s much too tired to redo them. “C’mon, don’t give me that look. I don’t know _how_ , but I _will_. I owe you that much.”

Not Jesse, Gabriel notes. Jack doesn’t feel indebted to Jesse, but to _Gabriel_. Jesse is injured and Gabriel is not. And yet–

“Tell that to _Jesse_ , not to me.” Gabriel moves suddenly, rising from his seat. The chair scraps against the floor loud enough for Jack to grimace. Gabriel acts like he doesn’t care. “I’m fuckin’ _tired_ , Jack. I don’t need to do your job for you.”

“I’d file ‘em all for you.” Jack makes a vague gesture towards the reports. Gabriel raises a single eyebrow. Jack lowers his arm again. Defensive. “No, really! I would! It’s just that you handwrite them, I don’t. And you’re left-handed while you write. I’m not.”

His words are logical, and his speech makes sense. Gabriel knows all of that. He also knows that his own head is spinning. He hasn’t eaten since before he moved out, and he hasn’t slept in an even longer time – and worst of all, he knows that Jack can tell all of that just by taking one good look at him. Gabriel looks _exhausted_ , even more so than he did while in the medbay. He needs to sleep, and to eat, and to focus on something that isn’t Jesse. It would hurt, Jack knows, but it’s necessary. Like tugging on an old bandage to pull it off a healed wound after dried blood made it stick to the skin.

“Gabe, please. I don’t want to argue.”

Gabriel doesn’t answer right away, because Jack is extending his hands towards him. It’s not a gesture meant to convey aggressiveness, even though Gabriel has seen Jack making similar gestures to intimidate others into submission. Which is only slightly eerie and out of character – out of the two of them, the most intimidating one is undoubtedly Gabriel. And if they count dear Ana too, the end result still doesn’t change – Jack remains at the bottom.

… now _that’s_ a phrase that Gabriel would always run buck-wild with. If only he weren’t so miserable now…

“What do you want, Jackie?”

Jack sighs with a mixture of relief and bliss upon hearing Gabriel referring to him by that blessed nickname. For Jack, it is proof that Gabe is more receptive, more inclined to heed his words now than he was before. And that’s good. It’s a first step into the right direction. Jack cannot, in good faith, ask him for anything else.

“Honestly? I want to make sure you’re alright.”

Gabriel downright _reels_ when he hears that. He crosses the room in two powerful strides, grabs at Jack’s lapels with two powerful hands, and kisses him just as powerfully. Jack moans into the kiss, because he hadn’t been expecting such a reaction in the slightest – jest, maybe; a joke at his expense, sure. But he’d never imagined that his dear, troubled Gabriel would kiss him so ardently.

They eventually come apart, more because Gabriel needs to breathe than because he wants to break apart. Perhaps that explains why his hands linger on Jack’s torso, going down to the centre of his chest. His fingertips stop in between Jack’s pectorals, so close to where his heart is. For such a fearsome Commander, Jack decides, Gabriel looks utterly unthreatening now. It’s more than clear that he harbours no ill feelings towards the Strike Commander. The betrayal that caused Jesse’s perilous state is not Jack’s fault – that’s the conclusion that Gabriel has reached after being awake for around fifty-two hours.

Which are decidedly too many hours without sleeping.

Gabriel is practically melting into Jack’s arms, hiding his face in the crook of his neck and nuzzling against him with sleepy abandon. Jack’s arms encircle Gabriel’s form, admiring, and not for the first time, how finely hourglass-shaped he is. Jack is so used to his own blocky structure that Gabe’s figure always catches his full attention – where Gabe has striking curves to him, Jack is merely a rectangle all around, all straight lines from shoulder to hip.

True, Jack has known Gabriel for years now; but his wondrous fascination with Gabriel’s body, with all things related to him, still remains. Jack’s hands slowly run over Gabriel’s broad shoulders, following the marked lines of his shoulder-blades, down to his tiny waist – tiny in comparison to Jack’s, of course; there are lither people. They’re both a bit too tall to be considered lithe, though Gabriel is decidedly slender.

“I can’t sleep, Jackie…” Gabriel slurs against Jack’s neck, so utterly exhausted that he slips into Spanish for some excruciating beats. Jack’s hands slide back up from his waist, gently travelling along his warm skin. Gabriel nearby _purrs_ – and that’s when Jack knows that he really, _really_ needs to sleep. “There’re enemies ‘round… _no puedo_ …”

“Do it for me.” Jack croons. He keeps his voice as soft as he can, muttering each word rather than speaking it. The low volume and the darkness around them have always been comforting elements for Gabriel. “I’ll stand guard while you rest.”

Gabriel makes a sound, trying to protest even while his body is ready to collapse for a very long time. Jack almost wonders who would wake up first – Gabriel or Jesse.

That comparison is not fair at all, though. Jack beats himself up within his head as he runs both his hands back down to Gabriel’s waist, who by now is clinging to Jack’s shoulders like his life depends on it. Considering his current state, it might as well do.

“You need to rest, Gabe… you’re not alert when you haven’t slept for so long. And our enemies are real, more than ever, even, and we need you alert…” Jack’s volume lowers even more, until it becomes merely a tiny wisp of a breathe caressing Gabriel’s gloriously naked skin, “ _I need you_.”

Jack feels a smile against his neck. It’s the only indication that Gabriel has heard him.

Manoeuvring them both out of such a narrow doorway is a difficult task when Gabriel is little more than a deadweight in Jack’s arms, but he somehow manages. It’s almost embarrassing to admit that Gabriel’s body is lighter than his own – blame their different body structures for that one. Jack smiles when he notices that, even half asleep and graceless, Gabriel is still trying to help Jack as much as he can. They’re so lucky that it’s the dead of night, because it means that most. if not all, of Blackwatch is out, hustlin’. Jack has no idea if they frequent the same bars and establishments as Overwatch men do; but, if he had to bet on either possibility, he’d place his money on whatever option Gabriel chose, even though his initial reaction had been a rotund _no_.

A red-eyed cyborg passes them on the hallway, stops when he recognises the two people he’s looking at. Jack freezes, caught somewhere in between blushing beet red and growing authoritative enough to intimidate the cyborg into leaving. He’s got one arm around Gabriel’s waist, fingers hooking on the hem of his black underwear merely due to Gabriel insisting on wearing it marginally higher than his trousers. Gabriel’s own arm is around Jack’s shoulders, hand ebbing up and down with each step they take in tandem, attached at the hip.

Before Jack can decide what to do, what excuse to give to justify why Overwatch’s Strike Commander is dragging a deadbeat, half-dressed Gabriel Reyes through the empty halls of the Blackwatch headquarters, the Blackwatch Commander himself speaks up.

“Genji. I’m a bit under the weather, so Jackie here decided to help me. Don’t rattle off to anyone, _me oyes?_ ”

Always the one to react first in tight spots. Jack doesn’t know whether he should feel proud of his lover or ashamed of his own incompetence.

The cyborg – Genji – slowly nods his head. He seems reticent, and he’s certainly eyeing Jack with much more uncertainty than he is Gabriel. Which makes perfect sense, Jack tells himself to assuage his nerves, because a Blackwatch man knows Gabriel much better than he knows Overwatch’s Commander. The fact that he opted for a nod instead of words makes sense too; more so if he doesn’t want Jack to know what his voice might sound like.

And that is if he can speak at all… a glance at the mess of red cables and silver plates covering half of the cyborg’s face and chest tells Jack that he cannot truly blame this one for his reaction. He’s also most likely younger than Jack and Gabriel by a good ten years, though the multiple scars marring every centimetre of his scantly-exposed skin make his real age hard to tell.

“ _Gracias._ ” Gabriel rolls the sound like any Spanish speaker would, which forces Jack to bite his lip in order to control his reaction to hearing it. It goes beyond the mirthful mockery of Jack being unable to roll his R’s like Gabe does – it merely sounds so much like Gabriel’s growls that Jack can’t trust his own reactions.

The cyborg answers a single word in a language Jack doesn’t understand but can recognise – Japanese – and keeps walking without a word, without a sound. Jack observes his lithe body as he passes them by, intrigued by whatever mesh of organic and synthetic materials had to be put together to compose his current body. He recognises the work of Angela whenever he sees it; she’s thorough and impressive even when she does not need to be.

“Where the _hell_ are you looking, Jackie?”

“I don’t know him, that’s all. You’re hotter than him anyway.”

Gabriel chuckles in a way that Jack can only describe as dark. It quickly gets under Jack’s prickled skin, goosebumps arising more acutely the longer Gabriel keeps the sound going. It sounds sultry, self-assured without crossing the line into arrogance – a monarch’s mark if there ever was one. Gabriel rules Blackwatch like he was born to do it, commands the battlefield like Jack can only aspire to do one day. Therefore, in Jack’s mind, such a royal title is more than fitting for Gabriel Reyes.

“Good to know, _cariño_.” The goosebumps on Jack’s skin break into a full-body shiver. “Jackie, I can’t… not right now.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Jack sounds and looks offended by the mere insinuation that his reactions were intended as sexual in nature. “Fuck me, Gabe. I wanna take you to the bed, but _not_ for sex!”

“Keep your voice down, Jackie.”

That is the moment when Jack feels himself blush. He has no idea if the cyborg is still close enough to have heard him say that he wants to bed Gabriel. He hopes he isn’t. If he has… so much for keeping their relationship a secret. Even if the chances of an aloof cyborg rattling off about them is slim, Jack doesn’t want to run that risk.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” True to his own advice, Gabriel lets himself grow lowkey, until he’s basically purring dark words in an even darker tone right into Jack’s ear. “Just take me to my bed. And _stay_.”

As if Jack would ever leave him.

Their tandem-walk through the empty halls works as well as their teamwork does when out in the field. When they reach Gabriel’s door, though, it becomes evident that he used all his remaining lucidness in driving Genji away – he slumps in Jack’s arms, never more befitting the deadweight tag Jack had granted him earlier. Jack has to somehow let Gabriel’s front rest against his own to free his own arms enough to fish the electronic key from the back pocket of Gabriel’s low-riding trousers.

The lack of reaction from him when Jack keeps his hand curved along the enticing shape of his arse speaks volumes.

“Finally…” Jack sighs when he closes the door behind them. It locks with a _click_ , almost like they’re in a hotel instead of in Gabriel’s personal quarters.

The room is spartan, just like Jack’s own back at Overwatch HQ, but it also looks lived in. The duvet is off the bed and on a chair, because Gabriel overheats when he sleeps – Jack is so, _so_ proud and so glad that he knows that little fact about him – and the blankets are bunched at the foot of the bed. Gabriel probably kicked them off during the last time he slept here.

Jack cannot help but _blush_ crimson red when it suddenly hits him that the last time Gabriel slept at all was in Jack’s own bed.

Then Gabriel detaches from him, wanders closed-eyed to the bed, and lets himself fall face-first on it. He groans softly when his exhausted body hits the mattress heavily – it protests the sudden weight with an undignified sound. Jack swears he heard Gabriel say _cállate_ right back at his own bed.

“Better now?” Jack asks softly. He’s already taking off his t-shirt when Gabriel groans something unintelligible in return. The fabric obstructs his vision of the bed for a moment; upon looking at it again, he finds that Gabriel has stretched an arm over the edge of the mattress. “I’m here…”

Jack knows that, with Gabriel, actions matter more than words, so he moves to the bed and sits on it. The mattress’ protest is fainter, probably because Jack was gentler to it than Gabriel was. He throws his t-shirt onto the duvet; from here, he’s got a better angle to shoot from. It slides down its surface for a couple of seconds, during which Jack readies himself for a quick flight to secure it before it reaches the dirty floor – because Gabriel couldn’t vacuum clean to save his life. Whoever lives with him on a daily basis is lucky, though; he prefers doing both laundry _and_ the dishes.

Jack is suddenly overcome with a powerful urge to share a tiny home with him.

His t-shirt doesn’t fall onto the floor. Good. Gabriel loops an arm around Jack’s ass, wiggles his own hips against the mattress. Jack could giggle at the amusing sight, but this is not the time. His desire to take care of Gabriel multiplies tenfold. Luckily, he thinks he knows what Gabriel means. _Ayúdame_. Help me.

Jack undoes his own trousers first, because Gabriel’s reaction to the sound of the zipper being tugged down will tell him if he’s right. He’s completely out of luck by now, though – Gabriel is already halfway towards the land of pleasant dreams. Or to the land of dreamless rest. Whichever he prefers tonight.

Jack keeps a knee on the bed while he tugs his trousers as further down as he can while in this posture. He knows that Gabe wants – _needs_ – to know Jack is right here with him. Still, Jack needs to leave the bed for a moment to fully free himself of clothing, sans for his underwear. Gabriel only ever takes it off him when they’re planning on having sex later – Jack blushes at the mere thought of Gabriel being the one to always undress them both for sex, instead of letting Jack unwrap himself like a present.

Besides, they have already established they won’t be having sex tonight. The least Jack can do is respect Gabriel’s wish; perhaps even more so when Gabriel himself is the one with the most powerful libido most of the time.

Once Jack is done undressing, he rolls Gabriel over. He growls like a wild beast being awakened from a pleasant slumber. It doesn’t encumber Jack’s actions, although Gabriel isn’t exactly aiding him, either; he’s much too gone for that. It makes Jack smile to know that Gabriel trusts him this intimately – because his fellow Commander is always so closed-off, so proud of his independence from the rest of his team; and yet…

“… Jackie…”

The call of his name has been barely above a whispery breathe, but Jack heard it, and it made him smile. It’s a shame that Gabriel cannot see it; he loves that brilliant curve almost as much as Jack loves it when Gabriel makes him smile.

“I’m not leaving, Gabe…” As much as Jack’s heart aches to phrase it differently – _I’m not leaving you_ – such a sentence would feel too raw. He can’t say it. Not now. Not like this.

Absolutely not while Gabriel is already more unconscious than lucid.

Therefore, Jack swallows his own convoluted feelings and focuses on undoing the button and zipper at the front of Gabriel’s trousers. His long fingers tremble as they move to either side of Gabriel’s hips, gently lifting them from the mattress so that he can easily slide the trousers off. Gabriel gives a tiny sound, too deep from within his throat to count as a whine, but not a full-fledged growl either. Jack almost counts him as surprised – until Gabriel regains his mastery of at least one of the languages he speaks.

“Jackie, warn me first…”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t…” Another sound. This time, it sounds like the crossbreed of a moan and a growl – Jack hesitates to call it a groan, because it doesn’t contain pain or frustration. It is almost like Gabriel is testing his throat, trying to determine how many of his wordless idioms Jack can understand without faltering. “Just… _fuck_ …”

Jack smiles through a chuckle, assuming that Gabriel is too exhausted to resort to his usual Spanish curses. He’s never fully understood why Gabriel always slips right back into Spanish for those harsh words – in Jack’s mind, that language sounds more musical than English. He’s only asked Gabriel about it once; he still remembers how low his laugh sounded – just like thunder rolling within his soul. It had betrayed Gabriel’s amusement. Jack had blushed quite red upon hearing it, which made Gabriel grow cocky and suave in that self-assured way of his. In turn, his velvety advances made Jack blush faster, harder – and seeing his reaction sharpened Gabriel’s wits even more. In the end, it became such an unending circle that they saw no other way out than a tight tangle of limbs and twin explosions of white.

Jack blushed then, and he is blushing now. He always blushes when Gabriel is in any state of undress; it doesn’t even matter if he’s showing merely a sliver of dark at the cleavage or if Jack unintentionally interrupts him showering. And now both of Gabriel’s legs are on full display, all cording sinew and powerful thighs – _by all that is holy_ , Jack sighs within his head.

Unbeknownst to him, he sighed a note out loud, too. Gabriel has heard him, though he does not raise attention to it. The small favour is due more to his fleeting consciousness than because he’s aware of his motions. His body feels heavy, too heavy to move. Jack’s ability to handle him so easily, so gently, serves as a testimony to his strength – to his delicate, yet unashamed, care for him.

And Gabriel revels in it.

“There we go…” Jack coos while throwing Gabriel’s dark trousers onto his own discarded jeans, just because he’s still not found any better place to put their clothes on. Jack refuses to let his gaze wander above Gabriel’s mid-thigh – that’s a high-risk area. It is also extremely rewarding to witness Gabriel’s pride in all its splendour. But – again – this is _not_ the time.

“… Jackie…”

His adoring heart swells, growing what feels like thrice its size when dear Gabriel clings to him as soon as Jack lays down by his side – instantly turning towards him, laying on his left side, promptly throwing an arm and a leg over Jack’s midriff and thigh. Jack smiles as bright as the sunrays that neither of them miss right now, and doesn’t even think of fighting the close embrace.

Gabriel groans – his head is nestled somewhere between the soft pillow and Jack’s shoulder, neck craned uncomfortably. Jack quickly recognises his agony; it’s painted all over Gabriel’s handsome factions, easy to see despite his closed eyes.

Jack moves as tenderly as he physically can when his entire left side is being held down by the vice-grip that is Gabriel’s weight. He’s lucky that he’s right-handed, and that Gabriel chose his less competent hand to lay his hips against, for it means that Jack can hold Gabriel’s head, feeling the softness of the locks curling around his fingers, and roll his shoulders at the same time. The combination of both gestures nestles Gabriel’s head in the crook of Jack’s neck, where it’s safer. Gabriel moans, much to Jack’s surprise, and moves even closer. Jack bites his lower lip until it’s as red as his cheeks when he realises that the faint air-current he can now feel against his blushing skin is Gabriel breathing.

“Good night, Gabe…”

But Gabriel is already too asleep to answer.

* * *

Jack wakes up before Gabriel does, though that was expected. They’ve rolled over while asleep, Jack realises with a sleepy whine – now he’s laying on Gabriel’s right side, draped over him with reckless abandon. He can feel Gabriel’s chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, for his hand rests on top of it, right over Gabriel’s heart. Jack’s still much too asleep to blush, but he ordinarily would have – his own heart is beating in time with Gabriel’s.

It is strange to have lazy mornings off like this, so Jack seizes the opportunity and lets his mind drift. If he starts to think, he’ll wake up further, and then he’ll end up either awakening Gabriel by accident, or overthinking about Overwatch and Blackwatch and the United Nations and whatever went wrong in their last mission and…

“I can hear you thinking…”

“Go the fuck back to sleep.” Jack replies, never minding the gruffy sleep clinging to his voice. He hides his face in the gentle slope at the centre of Gabriel’s chest, right in between his pectorals. When Jack speaks up again, his every word is muffled by Gabriel’s warm skin, “You need to rest…”

“Won’t sleep again now, _cariño_.” The sheer mention of the pet-name, the fact that Jack can not only hear it but also _feel_ it rumbling throughout Gabriel’s chest, get to Jack. “Ah, that’s true… I almost forgot how much you love my Spanish.”

“Shut up…” Jack replies feebly. Gabriel’s hand caresses his hair from his forehead to his nape. Those blonde locks are much too short for Gabriel to brush them back; a little thing that Gabriel resents. He loves how striking Jack looks with such short hair, but he can’t help but wonder how much better he could look if he grew it out a bit. “What…”

“Nothing.” Gabriel lies, because lying a white lie is preferable to admitting things out loud. He certainly feels less raw this way, at least. And that is an important detail.

Important because Gabriel doesn’t know _when_ or _why_ or _how_ Jack became so, so fucking important to him. It must’ve been somewhere in between the SEP and Overwatch, perhaps during that time when they fought Omnics to prevent the end of the world. Or at least that’s how the United Nations put it when they formed Overwatch, and also when it appointed Jack Morrison as the Strike Commander. Gabriel has always had reserves about that phrasing – “saving the world” – because it never felt like that. He doesn’t remember that happening at all.

He only remembers the battlefields, the blood, the gore. The dark things he’s done as Blackwatch’s Commander. Things that he could tell Jack about, but opts not to. Jack’s heart is too noble, even despite what he’s lived through – or maybe because of it. Gabriel admires that about Jack. He cannot bring himself to share his passion for the greater good, but he can at least recognise the idealistic merit of Jack’s ideals.

He runs his hand through Jack’s hair again. If his silence seems suspicious to Jack, he doesn’t say – he just keeps looking up at Gabriel with those blue eyes of his, innocent and ardent on equal parts. It’s quite a strange combination, though not an unpleasant one. Gabriel locks their gazes, enjoying the way Jack’s lips part just slightly.

He looks so much like he wants to be kissed.

Gabriel is happy to oblige him, even though he needs to roll them around first. His bed is tiny, not the king-sized bed Gabriel would love to possess Jack on, and so he ends up trapping his beloved blonde between the edge of the mattress and Gabriel’s half-prone body. Their kiss sears them to the core, scorches the blood inside their veins, renders them both speechless long after they’ve parted.

“Gabe…”

“How much time do we have…?” Unbeknownst to Gabriel’s conscience, his voice is barely above a reverent whisper. He feels like he needs to worship at Jack’s altar – such a strange feeling to have, for Gabriel is an atheist. The only God or Goddess he has ever prayed to is his devotion to Jack. “How many things can I do with you now?”

Jack is almost glad he’s added that last “now”. It signals to him that Gabriel wants to do a lot of things with him, maybe even _everything_. That is an intoxicating thought. It makes Jack’s heart grow larger still.

Before he can answer Gabriel’s inquiry, however, someone’s stomach growls so loud that it throws both men off balance. Jack stops and stares at Gabriel’s abdomen like it contains all the answers to the universe’s secrets. Gabriel refuses to meet his gaze; he’s too embarrassed by his own hunger than to even offer a feeble apology for having killed the mood.

“… let’s just get you something to eat.” Jack says after a _very_ long pause. “We’ll always have enough time to fumble around later.”

Ordinarily, Gabriel would’ve protested the mere suggestion of foregoing intimacy in favour of food; but his body is still rebelling against both the long days and the residual exhaustion from having slept so little. The mixture is nauseatingly insidious. Gabriel can’t refuse Jack’s offer – offer, more like _order_ – because he knows Jack is right.

“Come to my bed tonight.” Gabriel pleas. He knows he shouldn’t ask this of Jack; their schedules change every single day, and unpredictability is the bane of both routine and planning – and yet…

“Of course.” Jack offers him another of his blinding smiles. It reminds Gabriel of a farm in Indiana – another strange sensation; he’s never been in Jack’s homestead. Just like Jack has never been in Gabriel’s childhood home back in Los Angeles. “Promised.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep.” Gabriel warns as he leans down to give a tiny kiss to the curve of Jack’s jaw.

The little, wanton moan that his gestures pulls out of Jack emboldens Gabriel. He moves further against Jack, tracing the ropes of his neck with his tongue. If Gabriel wasn’t so sure that he cannot leave marks on Jack – too conspicuous for this secret affair of theirs – he’d be biting down hard right at the base of Jack’s neck. Gabriel knows exactly where to press against to find the most sensitive points in Jack’s anatomy; he loves the sounds he can pull from Jack a little too much than to forget those sensitive spots.

His current reward is double; a low whine and a hand tugging at his curls. Gabriel knows what angle Jack is playing, but he persists. He will not let himself be deterred by Jack pulling on his dark hair in an attempt of peeling him from his skin – a _futile_ attempt, Gabriel soon makes him realise.

“Gabe…” Jack half-whines, half-moans, tugging harder on Gabriel’s locks at the same time.

“ _Déjame_ …”

Jack groans. His hand slips from Gabriel’s hair to his shoulder-blades, short nails raking over his flesh. Gabriel sighs when the pressure on his hair lessens. In this moment, it becomes evident that Jack’s grip was hurting him. Jack would apologise, but his hands are full – both literally and figuratively.

“Gabriel, _please_ …” His voice dissolves into a moan of pleasure when Gabriel hits another sweet spot.

The murmured Spanish, the kisses and nibbles, Gabriel’s sheer _presence_ atop of him… everything is making Jack feel like he’s underwater. Swimming in warmth. It could even become desire, if they had the time.

It’s a shame they don’t.

“Gabe, you need food…” Jack tries again. He’s quite sure he will be unsuccessful – at least until Gabriel’s stomach growls again.

“Can’t I eat you instead?”

Before Jack can do anything else aside from blushing, someone’s phone starts to ring with an obnoxiously strident melody. It’s not even played by an electric guitar; which doesn’t seem like much until Gabriel remembers that Jack has a taste for rock bands who were active in the previous century. Then again, Gabriel has absolutely no room to tease him for liking old rock when he himself loves old heavy metal – and he knows it perfectly well. Just like Jack does. That’s not even the thing making him groan in distaste, anyway; Gabriel just resents Jack scurrying away, out of bed, out of his reach.

_Born down in a dead man’s town…_

Gabriel allows himself to fall face down on the mattress, lets out a groan so that Jack can pick up on his growing discontent. It’s not like the blonde will do anything other than maybe apologise, though; Gabriel knows. He recognises this ringtone. It’s the one Jack assigned to his work-related duties, back when they were both serving in the SEP. Gabriel considers having his own special melody ringtone on Jack’s phone as a privilege, wonders if Ana feels it the same way, too; all the commoners just get the default ringing.

_… the first kick I took is when I hit the ground!_

Gabriel unabashedly stares at Jack’s form as he answers the call. Jack acts like he doesn’t notice the intense look travelling from his broad shoulders, down the marked line of his spine, until it focuses right on Jack’s behind. He doesn’t have much of an ass, truth be told – Gabriel’s own is more impressive – but it still makes Gabriel’s emotions pool low on his belly.

“Yes, Sir…” Jack shoots him a look over his shoulder, as if the respectful title was meant for Gabriel, and not for whoever he’s talking to through the phone. Gabriel winks at him, grateful that his confident smirk is hidden from Jack’s view by Gabriel’s forearm. Jack sticks his tongue out at him while listening to his interlocutor.

Jack’s whole demeanour changes drastically in the next two seconds. His posture stiffens, back straightened so that he stands at full height. There’s a newfound tension in his shoulders, which marks every muscle in the arm holding his phone up to his ear. That’s when Gabriel knows that something is up – something that requires Jack’s full attention. If this is an official Overwatch op in the making, he can already start waving goodbye to his breakfast with Jack.

“Understood. Yes, Sir. I will get on it right away. Thank you, Sir.”

“Bad news?” Gabriel asks when Jack puts his phone down onto the wooden desk at the opposite side of the room. Jack’s back is turned to him, and no immediate answer arrives, so Gabriel entertains himself by letting his gaze roam all over the curves and dips on Jack’s body.

“Yeah.” Jack doesn’t turn around. “Sorry.” Gabriel props himself up on his elbows and keeps staring at Jack’s tense form. “I… I need to go.”

“Jackie?”

“I’m sorry.” Jack is trembling. “I…” Gabriel sits up on the bed. “… I’m sorry…” Jack hangs his head, still not turning around. “Gabe…”

“Just tell me what’s going on.” Gabriel lets his voice become soft, though there’s an edge in it too. “I can’t go in blind.” He gets up from the bed. The weak mattress creaks in relief. “I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Jack starts to gather his clothes. The silence reigning in the room is the only reason why Gabriel catches his sighs and whimpers. They can’t mean anything good. Jack does not cry often, although he does cry more often than Gabriel. But this reaction…

Gabriel’s stomach drops.

“Is Jesse alright?”

Feebly, Jack nods his head. Another whimper escapes him before he can form any words. Gabriel forgives him easily. He wants to comfort Jack – yet he is refusing Gabriel. He isn’t letting himself be touched. Hell, Jack isn’t even letting Gabriel see his face. And, when he finally speaks, he sounds strained – like he’s holding back a downpour of tears.

“I… I’m sorry. I need to go… I-I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

Gabriel’s heart breaks.

“Jackie–”

“I’m sorry!” Jack interrupts him. He’s already half-dressed; the only item missing is his shirt. “I can’t promise you anything.”

“Hey, that’s my line…” Gabriel attempts to jest, still in that soft tone that usually disarms Jack. He lost all edge the moment he heard Jack’s low voice crack into tears for an unknown reason. “I know how this job can be. You don’t need to apologise…”

Suddenly, Jack turns around and kisses him fully. It knocks the air out of Gabriel’s lungs. A moan escapes him before he can bite it back. He doesn’t want to think about this. It feels too much like a goodbye.

“Gabe, I…” Jack murmurs against his lips. He seems reticent to move away – and yet Gabriel cannot bring himself to circle Jack’s waist with his own arms.

Gabriel cannot bring himself to stop Jack from fleeing, feeling like there’s a very important _something_ that Jack has not said.

Gabriel cannot bring himself to say any of the words dying in his throat, unspoken because his heart has broken without any semblance of being able to repair itself without Jack’s adoration in between his trembling arms.

And Gabriel also cannot bring himself to leave his room until hours after Jack has left, carrying all warmth and love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joder = Fuck  
> No puedo = I can’t  
> Me oyes = you hear me (in the sentence used in the fic, it means “do you hear me”)  
> Gracias = thank you  
> Cariño = sweetheart  
> Cállate = shut up  
> Ayúdame = help me  
> Déjame = let me
> 
> For the curious: Jack’s ringtone is [Born In The USA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDCP8m78FhQ), by Bruce Springsteen. And yes, it is an anti-army song.
> 
> The name “Naasir Deberaux” is made-up; although I did draw inspiration from my favourite series written by Nalini Singh – [The Guild Hunter Series](https://nalinisingh.com/books/guild-hunter-series/).
> 
> I admit, I don’t exactly know where or when or how Jesse lost his arm; that’s why I decided to give my own interpretation. Canon might contradict it, but we all know Blizz is the worst at giving lore, so canon can get fucked for all I care!


	4. Screaming Eagles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Throughout the whole chapter, there is a whole lot of angst. mentions of injuries and of medical trauma, death, blood, combat-related stress, and general violence.
> 
> Before the partition line, there’s a mention to being drunk and a mention of Jack and Vincent’s past relationship. The latter can be taken as Jack wanting another man while dating Vincent, but is left vague (no cheating happened).
> 
> After the partition line, there’s also explicit gore, body horror, and an explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I keep ignoring the lore, things get moving, and they move real fast. Let’s hope our boys can react…
> 
> Regarding the lore, please note that the Overwatch Wiki says that Blackwatch had been public for a literal two years before Ana’s death (the Venice Incident was 8 years ago, and Ana “died” 6 years ago). For this fic to work, however, these two events happen much quickly than in canon. Let me know if I should add the “Canon Divergent” tag due to this!

Two weeks have passed since the last time Jack saw Gabriel in the flesh. Fourteen days in which he has not been able to stop beating himself up for leaving Gabriel’s room like that. If he closes his eyes, he can still see Gabriel’s awestruck expression after Jack kissed him – so gentle, so sweet.

So afraid.

If only Jack hadn’t received that fucking phone call…

Jack hasn’t allowed himself to start cursing Talon out – he knows that, if he starts, he will never stop. There simply are not enough curses in the world, even after putting together those of every language in the whole globe.

Because this whole… _mess_ , to call it by a word that is simply not cutting enough, is Talon’s fault – and no one else’s. If they hadn’t murdered Ana in cold blood two weeks ago, Jack would never have received that fucking phone-call, back in Gabriel’s bedroom. He would’ve been able to lay with Gabriel, to take care of him, to pamper that monarch of a man as lavishly as he deserves.

Alas, no dream will serve him tonight – or ever again.

The only thing dreams and fantasies would do, if Jack focuses too much on them, is taunt him with what could have been. If he got lost in them, returning to reality would be even more difficult than it already is. His heart feels heavy with the weight of knowing he has not even _tried_ to contact Gabriel for fourteen full days and nights.

His brain instantly points out that _Gabriel_ has _not_ tried to contact him, either. But that is more justified – he’s been dealing with the fallout of Blackwatch’s existence going public. It hasn’t gone well so far; the general consensus seems to be that Overwatch just cannot be trusted when there is such a shady Blackwatch behind it, running highly illegal ops. Most of Blackwatch’s agents are currently thriving on how Overwatch itself is also getting part of the flak; the tensions in between both ‘watches never truly went away, in spite of how everybody thought at some point that, eventually, they would.

Jack isn’t proud of how he was one of the very first people to accuse Blackwatch’s Commander, Gabriel Reyes, of having gone completely off the rails.

But how was he supposed to react upon learning about Blackwatch’s most secret, darkest parts thirty-five days ago? Sure, he’d already known about some of it, because he and Gabriel are close enough to share some details that would usually fall into the vague “classified information” category, but…

… learning about the Venice incident had been a whole another beast to deal with. Jack can see himself in that cramped interrogation room, shouting at Gabriel for having claimed the life of the target he’d been supposed to bring in for interrogating.

The honest truth is that, behind his altered state of mind, Jack had wanted to know why Gabriel decided to shoot that Talon leader, Antonio Bartalloti, in cold blood, instead of bringing him in alive like planned. That had been all. A simple question with a simple answer. Jack wouldn’t have judged Gabriel at all for taking such a decision – he just needed to know the reason so he could cover for him when faced with the UN, with the world at large. Now that the situation is over, Jack can see that his screams had not been the best approach; but it is still true that he screamed at the man who holds his heart.

A heart that cracked into a million jaded shambles when Gabriel had answered to his screams of _why_ with a single growl of _retribution_.

That single growl had destroyed every chance at reconciliation for Jack.

It had also shattered his already-fragile heart into even tinier fragments, until tears threatened to escape his wide eyes. Jack knows that Gabriel knew the effect his growl had – and yet Gabriel had remained in the same posture he’d been in until then, looking down at the table both his elbows were leant on. Ana had stepped in then, as had Gérard, because they had gentler hands than Jack did. Gabriel’s silent rage has always been a very difficult beast to tame, and Jack had doubted they would be able to calm it down. He’d tried to say so to Ana, but only indignant screams came out. Jack had been consumed by a blind rage, mirroring Gabriel’s state of mind, outwardly screaming for both of them – instinctually recognising why Gabriel couldn’t do the same.

But Jack had failed to communicate any of that to Ana. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the hard steel in her eyes when she’d looked at him, all but ordering him out of Gabriel’s sight in an attempt of minimizing the effects of the damage that had already been done. Jack tried to let her know that he’d only intended to speak with Gabriel _alone_ , but she had none of his screaming. And neither did Gérard, though he remained relatively low-key – aware that he has never been part of Overwatch’s triumvirate.

In the end, Jack had simply stormed off with all the flair of a wronged lover in one of those period dramas that Ana enjoys watching in her off-time. Jack had left Gabriel in that tiny interrogation room, a seething Ana by his side to control the damage as best as she could.

Jack had caught Gabriel’s eye on his way out – unable to hide his own pain – only to read the same exact pain in Gabriel’s dark eyes, the artificial lighting giving his irises an edge of red.

They both had wanted to have a private conversation, but the United Nations had been too quick to intervene. As per usual with bureaucracy; it either happens too soon or too late. Jack had wished they would do nothing for some weeks in an attempt at letting the whole affair of Blackwatch’s existence going public just blow over. He should have known better, though – or did all those flowery speeches and abilities to read others truly amount for _nothing_ , as Gabriel used to taunt him back in the SEP?

Jack has no real answer for that insidious question. All he knows is that, since the UN had been so slow to react in the months prior, it was more than clear that the tendency for the next few months would be to act too quick.

In this case, their irresponsible decision had been to allow an internal investigation of every single case and agent in Blackwatch – a witch-hunt in disguise, carried out by none other than the poster “heroes” themselves. Some Overwatch’s agents had expressed their opinions quite loudly, saying that it was about high time the UN recognised what a mess Blackwatch had always been. Reinhardt had been firmly in that camp, Jack recalls with only a hint of bitterness, as had Tracer. The reports of Blackwatch’s operations and _modus operandi_ had started to pour in at a slow yet steady pace, unveiling illegal trades – of arms and drugs, and even of darker things. Overwatch’s agents had been disgusted; rightfully so, Jack can admit.

But his appreciation for Gabriel had remained untouched.

Gabriel saw all those dark things right as they happened, day after day after day. And yet he encouraged Jack’s firm idealism, and told old Spanish fairy-tales to Fareeha before bedtime, and tried to get Jesse to not make the same mistakes Gabriel himself had. All very noble things that Jack can’t help but look up to him for.

Perhaps that explained why Jack had been so adamant on _not_ becoming the head investigator this time. Initially, he’d been the first pick – because of course that the poster child would become the first one to everything good in the United Nation’s eyes. He had, however, been able to slip through the cracks due to the already massive piles of work that had been accumulating dust on his desk. As much as Jack hated to even think about them, they sure had become the perfect excuse to put in front of his personal feelings for Gabriel.

Of course, the UN had insisted much more than they really should have – they had a plan, and Jack needed to mould himself to it whether he liked it or not. Gérard had truly been an anchor in the face of a particularly nasty UN overseer who wouldn’t take Jack’s “no” as the final answer that it really was. In return, Jack had delivered his best speech at Gérard’s and Amélie’s wedding – elated to delegate the Blackwatch investigation to Ana and Gérard himself.

Anything just so that Jack wouldn’t have to face Gabriel so soon., fearful that they would end up in a loud screaming match – or worse, in a downwards spiral of untold pain.

In the end, though, they all carried on with their lives as if nothing was wrong. As if all the screaming and the unasked questions simply did not exist at all. Somehow, that investigation had not yielded the results that the UN had been expecting – Jack knows he and Gabriel have Ana to thank for that one – so it had been relegated to a second place in the list of Overwatch’s official obligations. There were still Omnics to fight and a Talon to eradicate. Or so the UN had communicated to their Overwatch agents. Blackwatch had not received anything officially, though. Another little thing that made resentment grow.

Jack is honestly _very_ amazed that he and Gabriel were still able to communicate and do their job as co-ordinately as before their world caved in on them. The whole joint operation is the best proof of how they were able to put things in the past, regardless of what those things even were, and just keep on fighting, on living – on _loving_ – by each other’s side.

Until that fucking phone-call had thrown everything off-balance again.

If Jack hadn’t received it, he wouldn’t be half a world away from Overwatch HQ; and, by extension, from Blackwatch HQ.

And half a world away from his love.

It feels quite eerie to call Gabriel that, even if it’s within the privacy of Jack’s own head, but he knows that it’s the naked truth. He just hesitates to name it so because that would make it feel _real_ , and he still isn’t sure if he’s ready for that can of worms to open. It’s silly, because he’s known Gabriel for so long… they met before Vincent even entered Jack’s life at all, much less as a long-term boyfriend.

And yet, somehow, Jack still feels more taken than single.

After everything he and Gabriel have been through, it’s honestly no wonder that Vincent had first pointed out that Jack’s work would always get in the way of his personal relationships – and then vaguely alluded to how Jack’s longest-lasting relationship seems to be with Gabriel Reyes, and not with Vincent himself. Jack had been quick to reply that there was nothing romantic, much less sexual, between him and Gabriel. But Vincent had acted like he didn’t believe him at all – even though Jack had been telling him the raw truth. Jack can confidently say he has never cheated on any of his partners; and Vincent had not been the exception to it.

But Vincent had not believed him – his boyfriend, the person with whom he had built a relationship based on trust.

It had _hurt_.

It had made Jack feel like he didn’t know Vincent at all – like the man whom Jack had assumed he’d love until the grave was nothing like how he’d presented himself to be. There had been much more there than mere jealousy, Jack is sure of that; this had been a storm brewing for a very long time. Jack’s workload suddenly augmenting only became the last straw to make it all explode in the worst possible way.

Jack’s heart had broken twice that day – first by Vincent’s hurtful words, then by the actual break-up that ensued. That night, drunk off his mind, Jack had taken refuge in the only place he knew nobody would ever look for him in – Gabriel’s room.

Jack’s heart still swells with adoration and delicately unnamed emotions when he remembers how tenderly had Gabriel held him against his chest that night, how low his voice had been as he’d comforted Jack until he’d fallen asleep, unstoppable tears running down his face.

How he’d woken up first but remained in place, holding Jack against his own body until he, too, regained consciousness.

The bitter-sweetness of Jack’s every memory surrounding Gabriel brings his mind back to the present day – to him sitting with his weapon at hand in a dusty airfield, waiting for his transport to finish the mandatory revisions before taking flight with him aboard.

His shoulders sag with impotence as the image of Gabriel in his mind morphs into Ana – the same steel in the eyes, though her hair is longer than Jack has ever seen Gabriel style it like.

… _was_ longer. Ana Amari exists no more. That is why Jack has been dispatched to carry out the “Task of Revenge”, as Overwatch had colloquially dubbed it, half a world away from his heart and soul.

Jack tries his best to not get swallowed by another huge wave of a sadness so deep it feels much more like utter despair as he takes another long look at his assault rifle. It’s laying on his lap, and as opened as it can be – it shoots laser rounds instead of lead bullets, so its inbuilt loading system is impossible to manipulate without dismantling the whole thing. Jack knows this weapon was designed like that to make it harder to hijack, but he can only see disadvantages now. Perhaps it’s because he’s been mulling over heartbreak for the past two weeks.

… is it really heartbreak if he has never properly dated Gabriel, though…?

An Overwatch squadron without a leader give him a strange look as they march by, their weapons shining metallic under the setting sun. They’re all ready to march right into battle. Jack doesn’t raise his gaze from his weapon. He can feel them staring, but he doesn’t care. He’s got too much on his mind. These men are fresh from the Headquarters; Jack hasn’t been there for two weeks. Their uniforms are clean; Jack’s clothes are ragged at the edges. His coat’s tails are riddled with holes, and there’s mud stains up to his knees because that’s as high up as his heavy boots go. He feels absolutely filthy. He knows he looks the part, too. These looks he’s getting mean nothing – they’re telling him things he already knows.

Jack doesn’t know when he’s started to react to his environment in the same exact way Gabriel does. What he knows is that he doesn’t mind it. It makes him feel spiritually close to Gabe.

And it also brings him a hell of a lot of discomfort, because it’s another little thing reminding him about Gabriel, whom Jack left behind to fulfil his duties as the appointed Overwatch Strike Commander. He hopes Gabriel has been able to plunge himself into his job; Gabriel has always said that, when he’s hurting, giving his all to another issue takes his mind off the pain. Not that such a knowledge makes Jack’s heart ache less for having hurt Gabriel in the first place, but he supposes that it’s a start.

Jack loads as many rounds as he can into the rifle and reassembles it with a heavy sigh, not wanting to even contemplate his personal circumstances right now. There’s work to be done; he owes this victory to Ana. She took the fall, the damage, the unjust death – now Jack has been dispatched to finish the assassin who took the life of the extraordinaire Ana Amari. His closest friend, the closest thing to family he’s had since leaving his family farm back in Indiana. The most feminine part of their little triumvirate.

Thinking that their triumvirate is down to a mere partnership of two breaks Jack’s heart into even tinier pieces.

Trying his best to not break into tears – to uphold this mask of indifference – Jack mentally goes over the scarce information he has while he walks towards his aerial carrier. The Overwatch squadron from before are currently being briefed in front of the opened backdoors of another airborne carriage; Jack knows that they’re going to a whole different place. They have a whole different plan. They will have a leader calling the shots, and a whole section of Overwatch’s Intelligence departments constantly on the line with them through their comms. They will never be alone out there in the unforgiving field. They have each another. They have Overwatch itself.

Meanwhile, Jack needs to go alone. It’s what such a mission requires. This Task of Revenge will undoubtedly take a great toll on whoever tries to see it through. That’s why they sent in only one man, Jack knows – he knows, because he would’ve taken the same official decision. But he would never have gone alone. He would’ve disobeyed the orders, betrayed his own word, in favour of what he knows in his heart is truly right, no matter what anybody in the UN might have to say about it.

Jack would have taken Gabriel with him, because Ana was just as much of a sister to him as she was to Jack. It falls in line with every single conversation about vengeance they’ve ever have, too.

_If one of us falls, the task of revenge falls upon the other two._

Gabriel’s words, Ana’s way of speaking, Jack’s firm conviction. A triumvirate in life and a triumvirate in death. That’s how things were always supposed to be. Even when families started to appear for them – Sam, Fareeha, Vincent, Jesse – that faithful promise remained, ever untouched.

Jack wonders if Gabriel feels as wrong at HQ without Jack as Jack feels out in the field without Gabe by his side.

Unfortunately, Jack’s personal feelings about the matter mean horseshit in the end – certainly no blue-collared higher-up in the United Nations has ever taken Jack Morrison into consideration. Sure, they see Strike Commander Morrison, an imposing figure on the field and a dazzling man to flaunt the Overwatch uniform in front of a million cameras.

But they do not see the man behind all the little, brilliant medals on his chest. They never will. Just like Gabriel had warned him when they were first appointed to Overwatch and Blackwatch, all those years ago.

The UN has never seen them as more than mere soldiers, expendable by definition, even if a very convenient symbol to show off. That is exactly why they sent only one man to a mission that should’ve been done by at least a two-people team; although Jack can admit that he would feel even better if both Gabriel _and_ Jesse were here with him. Fareeha is much too young to get wrapped up in such a horrible business as war – and in such a disappointing business as revenge. Jack feels dread about this mission; he knows it won’t end well for him.

In a way, Jack’s almost grateful that he will be the only one to see it through. The Task of Revenge will be his undoing too, but he can live with it. Or die with it. Who really cares, anyway. Gabriel probably hates him, Ana will never be back, and all his friends in Overwatch will survive without him. Jack only needs to do this one thing right – and hope it won’t end up in his own death. Maybe that way he would, maybe-perhaps-he-can-hope, have a chance at explaining himself to Gabriel. He’s surely caught wind of Ana’s demise by now, too. It must have left him bruised and beaten, as close to emotionally shattering as Jack feels right now.

Jack growls to his collar as the grim reality of his current situation truly sinks in.

_Ana_ …

Jack’s heart sinks even more. Ordinarily, he would blame every dreadful emotion on the dead flesh he’s been sent to avenge, because that’s the sole reason why he isn’t in Gabriel’s bed right now – but this is _Captain Ana Amari_ , for crying out loud. She is far too important for him, for them both. She is held far too close to their hearts. They have known her since the SEP; she was not a part of it, but she was always around, already such a great sniper that she didn’t even need to flaunt her aim. Ana knew she didn’t have to; she could shoot the wings clean off a fly from half a mile away. Jack remembers trying his best to match her talent, because he never dared try to surpass her. He failed, of course; much to Gabriel’s loud amusement. He, perhaps more wisely, had never tried to measure himself against Ana – then again, there would’ve been no competition whatsoever if he did. Gabriel’s preferred shotguns were basically an elephant in a porcelain shop, designed to take off powerful foes – not nearly as surgically precise as her sniping rifle.

The aircraft’s doors close behind him, locking him in an artificial darkness lighted only by some green LEDs mounted on the walls in front of and behind him. Jack sits with the seat’s straps tightened as much as they physically can, crossing over his chest in an unflattering X-shape. The rifle rests on his lap once again, though pointed to the ground – Jack would never aim at anything, nor anyone, that he isn’t ready to shoot. It’s the most basic rule for handling firearms; one that he’s had drilled into his thick skull, courtesy of the strictest military instructors he has ever met.

There’s nobody else in the aircraft’s belly, Jack notices. The silence is the absolute king, sans for the whirring of the engines as they gain altitude. Jack closes his eyes, letting his head roll back against the cold, hard metal wall behind him. His thoughts are too scattered than to focus on the mission at hand, despite how imminent its execution is. Jack knows that he will need every last sense of his to make it out alive – if that sniper managed to take Ana out, he truly needs to focus. He’s never had any advantage over Ana, nothing he could truly use to best her in a fair fight, than his undergoing the SEP.

… _had_ over her.

Having to use past tense hurts his heart.

It’s painful to think in absolutes. It always is. Life and death are always at war in his line of work; Jack has witnessed that struggle a million times over by now. He’s lost members of the squadrons he led, he’s lost friends and enemies and lovers alike, all due to this damned line of work. There’s no middle ground in here; people are either alive or dead – and if they are out of his life, it’s as if they were dead. There’s no middle ground, no grey areas to contemplate. Just absolutes.

And Jack is not even fully accustomed to it just yet.

But Gabriel is much better at dealing with absolutes than Jack thinks he will ever be. Because Gabriel has always been able to separate his personal affairs from his work-related duties. Jack admires that quality, much as he also resents how cold and detached it can make Gabriel seem like sometimes. Jack has always thought it is crazy to know himself as the most prone to emotional outbursts, because it breaks all the stereotypes he was chosen Strike Commander for – but it is also the naked truth. Gabriel’s rage is a cold, detached ember that scorches his enemies alive; Jack’s own is a short yet intense outburst that never takes a true hold of him. Jack cannot hold a grudge; Gabriel never lets go of it.

And dear Ana is closer to Gabriel’s character than she is to Jack’s.

… _was_ closer to Gabriel’s.

Absolutes. Again.

The aircraft dithers violently, shaking right-to-left a second before it also moves up-and-down. Jack groans, although it’s not audible over the roaring rotors, unpleasantly and suddenly taken out of his misery. He barely manages to clutch his rifle even closer to ensure it won’t slip away from his grasp amidst the turbulence. Instinct makes him point it towards the ceiling, both because it’s easy to aim at anything if the rifle is already raised, and because this posture allows him to hold it closest to his own chest. Jack looks around, uncertain, shaken not only by the aircraft itself.

If this is a crash-landing in the making, Jack wants no part of it. He has only lived through one once in his whole lifetime, but it was enough to scar him almost for life. Ana loves to tease him about it – the high and mighty Overwatch Strike Commander, afraid of taking the sole means of transport that can reliably take him to his missions. Jack counts himself lucky that Gabe isn’t as mean-spirited.

Correction – Gabriel _is_ mean-spirited, but not towards Jack.

Or at least that’s how things were before Jack stormed out of his room, seemingly to never return – because this mission will take a great toll on him, one that might change him completely.

Every cell in Jack’s body thrums with the desire to go back in time to that fateful instant to grab Gabriel by the collar and _kiss_ him. Hold him and never let go. Or let Gabe hold him instead; Jack has never been too picky about it. He and Gabe are the same height, anyway; it works no matter what they do.

“ _Commander!_ ”

“Yes!” Jack rasps through his comm. He still can’t believe he’s gotten one for this mission – a hackable device defeats the purpose of a stealth op. Or so Gabriel would say.

“ _Overwatch_ _HQ is under fire! I repeat, Overwatch HQ is under fire! Abort current mission! Your new orders are to take out all Talon assailants at HQ!_ ”

Jack’s stomach churns. He can feel the aircraft correcting its route, already turning in mid-air to carry him back the way he came. Jack mentally prepares himself as he sends a quick, yet firm, confirmation through his comm – orders received. He will deal with it. He assumes all available operatives will be there too, helping their defence protocols and Omnic guardians. Jack certainly can’t imagine vehement Reinhardt letting such a crucial conflict go unfought. And Torbjörn wouldn’t let _anybody_ mess with his latest inventions; and especially not when he was the one who designed and built most of their defensive artefacts. Those two will give it their all to keep their headquarters safe.

Jack’s stomach drops even lower when his thoughts centre in little Fareeha, alone in this world after her mother’s tragic death. She has remained at Overwatch HQ because Angela had been taking care of her as best as a stressed physician can; and with Jack out on the field, mission after mission, paperwork piling up on his desk, Angela is the only one who can truly take care of Fareeha. True, Torbjörn has much more experience with kids of all ages, thanks to his ever-growing army of offspring; but these days he’s locked so tightly in his workshop that not even his youngest daughter can make him come out.

… Ana’s death hit them all extremely hard. That much is clear. Torbjörn is just one of those who cope with tragedy by throwing themselves headfirst into work. Jack can relate to that.

The aircraft turns again, wind roaring almost as loudly as the rotors. Jack wonders if sending Fareeha with Gabriel would’ve been a good idea after all. Reinhardt had been firmly opposed, though; Blackwatch’s name has been popping up in all sorts of nasty businesses lately – from downright torture to illegal arms trade. For Reinhardt’s proudful, uptight moral code, leaving a dear friend’s only child with someone he cannot fully trust is the gravest mistake they could ever make. A still-recovering Jesse had tried his best to convince him otherwise, going as far as using his adoptive-sibling dynamic with her as leverage, but Reinhardt had not given in.

And then Jesse had just run away, still too wounded in both body and mind than to last long out there, all alone. Angela had tried to track him down, worried sick about him – but she lacked Blackwatch-level clearance into the main servers, which had left her emptyhanded. Jack had also tried to trace his steps – had even thought about going to Gabriel for help – yet had not done a single thing in the end. He didn’t want to risk another fight, or to have to confess exactly why he’d ran off like that.

Besides, it was better to not disturb Gabriel; he already must have had a lot on his mind – especially after Jesse left, because his closest Blackwatch operatives had started to go missing too. Perhaps they had all been prompted by Jesse’s own running away, it was truly impossible to tell. Jack hadn’t been aware that they were such a tight-knit group than to respect loyalty even outside of Blackwatch, but everything is possible. Jack is, after all, notoriously known for being a dense observer – as Gabriel and Ana love to tease him for.

That’s not the point, though. The point is that barely a week ago O’Deorain moved out of Blackwatch’s headquarters – something which Angela seemed quite pleased about. Jack could only guess there was some sort of rivalry between the doctor and the geneticist that he just hadn’t known about.

Next thing they knew, the cyborg – _Genji_ , Jack chided himself– had suddenly vanished too. One day he was there, and the next he was not. Jack had heard enough about him from Jesse, and from Gabriel, to know that Genji would never be found if he did not want to be.

But Fareeha… she hadn’t left. She _couldn’t_ leave. Her mother is dead, her father is in a whole different continent, and her Overwatch family just doesn’t have the time to care for her like she should be cared for. It is a messy situation to say the least. Ana must have known that having a child in her line of work was selfish, because there was no way in Hell that the kid could be brought up in a normal, civilian environment – and yet she’d taken the decision to be a mother, consequences be damned.

It made Jack re-evaluate his own secret desire to adopt a couple kids one day, once he retires from shooting the bad guys and settles down in a quiet place somewhere. In his dreams, Gabriel is there too – and, somehow, _that_ is the most unrealistic part of the whole damned fantasy.

An image of Fareeha crosses his mind. She’s dressed in a blue-and-white sundress, which provides a nice contrast with her darker skin and the little symbol her mother drew in black kohl on her face – because Fareeha is still a child, and idolatries her mother. Her cheek is too small for a true Eye of Horus, but Ana had somehow managed to draw it in full.

But then the image changed, and instead of Ana by her side it was Gabriel – who undoubtedly could also have drawn the mark. Jack has only seen Gabriel with kohl around his dark eyes once in his entire lifetime, but the image is burnt into his memory already. And it works, too, because Fareeha likes Gabriel as much as she likes Jack; and they both take care of her whenever Ana is out in the field.

But they cannot do that. Not anymore. Even Fareeha’s designed caretaker, Angela, has her hands full already. So Fareeha remains alone. Overwatch has seen how all duties double because of all their internal struggles with their Blackwatch counterparts. And the whole Venice incident thirty-seven days ago certainly hasn’t helped make amends, either.

Come to think about it, that incident is most likely another reason why Reinhardt does not trust Gabriel now – if he ever did. It’s obvious why he’d been so firmly against letting Ana Amari’s daughter with Gabriel. And Jack is, with shame and regret, _glad_ that Reinhardt had won that argument – leaving Fareeha with Gabriel would have entailed meeting face-to-face with Gabriel.

Gabriel, who must be raging just as much as Jack is, wanting retribution against the Widowmaker from Talon who shot Ana through the head.

Jack shakes his head, growls as loud as the blaring engine. He _needs_ to pull himself together and deal with this miserable nightmare. There is no two ways about it. Fucking Talon has been running rampant and unchecked for too long now, being a solemn pain in Overwatch’s collective ass. They need to be stopped.

At least there seems to be at least some intel about some of their operatives, this deadly Widowmaker being one of them. The calibre of her sniper-rifle’s bullets is now known – Jack wishes it hadn’t taken the literal death of one of his dearest friends to find out. Regrettably, there is no visual of her; as any self-respecting sniper, she seems to cling to the shadows. Therefore, this Task of Revenge will be difficult – not to mention that she could very well be aided by any other Talon operative about whom Overwatch has absolutely no intel.

Come to think about it, Jack is still surprised he was the one picked to carry out this Task when Gabriel would have been the obvious pick. As the black-ops expert, and as the Blackwatch Commander, Gabe certainly has more experience, both in stealth ops and as a torturer – Jack doesn’t like to dwell on that last part, although he knows it to be true. Not to mention that Gabriel also has more than enough personal motives to carry the Task through.

… though maybe it’s a good thing that revenge doesn’t fall upon Gabriel. He’d be consumed by grief and rage alike. Retribution would drive him into madness, just like it has driven many a good man insane before their time. The gravest mistake of all would’ve been leaving Fareeha under his care during it all – their sorrows would feed one another’s in an unending cycle. Jack believes – and is afraid – that not even his own presence would be enough to pull them from that particular darkness.

Not after having ran off on Gabriel without any explanation.

His comm buzzes with static. Jack’s mind conjures an image of old movies from last century, in which physical television monitors would dissolve into tiny, black-and-white “snow” when there was no emission. He’s never seen it in person, though; holo-screens don’t quite experience that – they just revert to their original light blue hue. The most he’s ever seen is a holo-screen crossed by interference and static, until the face of the person betraying them all was impossible to distinguish.

The buzzing grows in intensity and volume, foretelling the whistle tones it will inevitably reach. Jack winces as he fights with his own hearing, scrambling where he sits to pull the intercom’s earpiece out before his eardrums explode.

The aircraft does another strange motion, one that reminds Jack of that one time he almost became stranded at sea during an all-out blizzard. The only remotely good thing back then had been Gabriel’s presence by his side – Jack had already been dating Vincent, though; something which Gabriel had always respected. Jack still blushes whenever he remembers that he’d been the clingiest, drunkest motherfucker on board, seeking refuge from the lolling ship in Gabriel’s arms. Alcohol and disorientation had fuelled Jack into mistaking Gabe’s handsome visage for Vincent’s; and yet Gabriel hadn’t been mad at all. He had simply gathered Jack’s trembling form in between his strong, warm arms and let him hold on for dear life, caressing his hair and murmuring reassurance in Spanish.

Jack doesn’t want Gabriel to find out that he never did confuse him with Vincent, even though he suspects Gabriel already knows. Gabriel has always read him too easily, drunk or not.

That particular memory, once so sweet that Jack had let it accompany him to sleep after breaking up with Vincent, is now tainted bittersweet. Jack’s heart aches for Gabriel just as acutely as his whole chest does when the aircraft shakes and the seatbelt bites into his uniform, into the skin under it. A groan escapes him. If new orders, or a request for a status report, are coming in through the intercom, he cannot hear them. He can’t even see where the damned thing has rolled off to since he threw it onto the floor. The aircraft’s engines are roaring, louder than one of those heavy metal concerts Gabriel loves to run off to in his free time. They’re loud enough to drown every other sound out – including the blaring alarms. Jack knows they’re on because the whole space is being lit up in red, the LEDs quickly blinking on-and-off-and-on-again. It’s annoying as all fuck, although Jack understands why it works this way. A visual cue is impossible to miss – much like in any common cinema.

Jack starts to feel lightheaded before he can free himself from the invasive straps crisscrossing over his chest. It’s not a good idea to pull them off if they’re going to crash-land, he knows – but he cannot move to ask the pilot about it if he’s tied down. The risk is high; the reward is even higher. It’s a gamble Jack is willing to take. Especially now.

Because Gabriel hasn’t even _tried_ to contact him in fourteen full days. Overwatch is falling apart at the seams. Blackwatch is running amok under the radar, too wild, too strong, too damn _quick_ for any international organization to control them. Gabriel himself is basically MIA. Jack has been running mission after mission for so long that Overwatch has become used to functioning without a leader.

And then there’s Ana. And little Fareeha. And Jesse, who without Gabriel is also parentless.

And, in the smack middle of it all, Jack’s broken heart, aching despite not being within his chest anymore.

* * *

The darkness invites him in with rolling lullabies in no discernible language; and yet he understands every single word. He recognises the melody, for he’s been hearing it for months. Years, perhaps. He does not know how far down the rabbit-hole goes. He knows only that he’s willing to follow it, like little Alice from little Fareeha’s little fairy-tales. It is a strange kind of despair, one that he is well acquainted with, but had never known so intimately before. His core feels like a living ember, molten lava slowly flowing into the magmatic pool that is his body.

He cannot remember for how long he’s felt this magnetic pull, but he knows it has been long. There were traces of this hubris within his mind before all the changes given by the bad doctor started to take hold on his body. But that is okay. It’s much better to have black blood in him than having to see it bleed from the cyborg, from his son. Those two already have their own shares of debris falling right onto their heart, weighing them down with a different kind of despair. He can stand it without screaming, without lashing out. But the cyborg’s innate rage would only run hotter, deeper, if the bad doctor got her long fingers on whatever of his flesh remained. And his son…

No. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He is their silent, unsung protector. The one hero who nobody ever thinks about. The song changes into a tragedy, although it remains the same as always at the same time. His mind runs in circles, in ellipses, in oblongs. In curves. Never in a straight line. He has never been straight, though. At least that part still rings true.

He wonders how scared would dear Jackie be if he could see him now.

Jack would be so disgusted if he found out what he has allowed the bad doctor to do to his body… He does not want to think about that. His heart threatens with exploding from the inside out whenever his darkened thoughts wander towards Jack. Another one he longed to protect. Another one who will give him no compensation for his troubles. He knows. He does not mind. It does not matter. He is an unsung hero, after all. Nobody ever thinks of him. And that is okay. He does not need the fame, despite what everybody believes.

He only needs to do this one job right. Then he can lay down all ghosts of his past and let his troubles dissolve into darkness. The primordial dark is welcoming. It does not judge. It does not run away. It simply exists. Waiting for him. Rolling lullabies in tongues he does not speak. He once belonged to it, and to it he will return. But not now. First there are things to be done.

A final mission. A self-imposed mission. A suitable demise for the eternal soldier who never wished to be a hero. It is necessary. It is a tiny price to pay. His own pathetic life, in exchange for a million worthy ones. The eternal solution is so painfully obvious that he does not need to even think about it. The world will not stop spinning just because he wants to step down and away from it. His exit is painted clear. Such a stark contrast to the welcoming darkness ebbing around his form.

This darkness smiles upon him from all angles as he lets out a growl. He is still not used to his limbs dissolving at a molecular level. For a brief moment, he can feel his cells mutating. His growl dissolves when his throat does. He cannot scream when he has no vocal cords. Air flows through the opened space at his jaw. It stings his tongue and his gums. He feels the cold on his teeth. Then they dissolve too.

It is always easier after he becomes one with the darkness around his form. He can hear the song more clearly now. And it sings… it sings so sweetly. And only for him. The melody becomes very tangy very quick. He does not mind. He likes it, even. It takes the pain off his mind. It is strange to be able to think when he does not have a brain anymore. He has never questioned it, though. Why question it? It works. That is the only thing that he needs to know.

The melody crescendos. The leitmotiv repeats again. It would not be a leitmotiv if it did not repeat itself. In this form, he can travel quicker. Invisible notes guide him into the bowels of the building. He has been here before. He recognises some of the corridors he passes through. But he is not guided into the part of the building he knows the best. It hurts… it hurts and it is for the best. It is for the best. He cannot go back there. If he does, he… he will dissolve.

The darkness freezes. No, _he_ freezes. The darkness around him thaws. He reforms. The molecular pain is back. The mist and the human are the same thing. But they are also not. It takes a lot to reform in complete silence. He wants to scream. He cocks his head. The darkness unfurls around his edges. The uniform is too snug. He does not feel smug. Why did he like it back then? It feels too constricting now. Only dissolving into darkness feels right.

Oh, that’s right. He remembers. He remembers while he slices a head cleanly off some shoulders. Jack loves it. Jack loves to look at him when he wears tight clothes. And their uniforms are tight. It was a good thing, then. They usually saw each other in uniform. They did not get enough free time for other clothes. For other activities. He remembers how Jack’s body felt against his own.

He wants to scream. But the darkness does not scream. The darkness is not violent. It is only welcoming. He welcomes the red blood from his victims. The melody is happier when he kills. How did he slice that head off…? He only has his twin shotguns with him. And no ammo. That is not good. Not good for the mission. Not good for him. Not good for anyone.

He is not good for anyone. He is not good for Jack, either. He never was. He never will be.

The pain flares up again. This time, he screams. Why not? He has killed everyone. The halls are bloody. And they are empty. Only corpses remain. Some still ooze red blood. Normal blood. Not like his own. He has not been wounded, but he knows. He knows his own blood is black. Like his soul. Or so they say. He just does not care anymore.

Thirty-five days ago, it became clear that Overwatch does not care about him.

Fourteen days ago, it became clear that Jack does not love him so.

Eleven days ago, it became clear that even heroes can be killed.

Seven-and-a-half days ago, it became clear that his son never needed him.

He hopes the cyborg is safe. He hopes his son and the Captain’s daughter are safe. They all deserve better. Better than this hell he is bringing upon Overwatch. He does not care about the bad doctor anymore. Why should he not rain hell on Overwatch? It needs to disappear. It was destined to dissolve. Or maybe doomed. It depends on perspective. He does not lean to either side. He remains utterly neutral to its misfortune. The melody plays a hopeful tragedy for him. There are no words and there are no notes. Yet he hears it just the same.

He hopes Jack is safe. His heart bursts into darkness when he thinks of him. But his thoughts betray him. How can he have thoughts when he is one with the darkness? He does not know. But he does. He does, and it hurts. The pain goes deep. To the marrow in his bones. But he is one with the darkness, and there is no marrow. There is no bone. Only the darkness remains. It sings the blackest song for him.

_Jack_ …

Pain through his shoulder. It dissolves with the pain. Air passes through his vocal cords. They are only half-formed, so it is only a half-scream. It sounds strange. Guttural. He is more throat than vocal cords. More teeth than tongue. This soldier has an Overwatch uniform. He needs to go. But the darkness will not welcome him. This darkness is only for him. This song is only for him. It will not play for anybody else.

… _I loved you._

He has never pronounced those words when Jack could hear them. He is too weak. He will always be too weak. He is a poor excuse of a man. He is not even a man anymore. He is one with the darkness. The darkness will not run out on him. It will not leave him standing in the middle of his room. Silent. Alone. Unsung.

He is the one the darkness sings to, but nobody will sing about him.

Something within him unfurls when the darkness welcomes the blood. Just like a trigger has been actioned. The trigger of his wrecked mind. It threatens with blackening out. Just like the sweet darkness around him. It will swallow him whole if he lets it. Why is he resisting? Why is he not fighting against it?

_Jack_ …

He feels like he is bleeding. Something is oozing right out of his chest. His heart is pouring out the liquid within it. It is black and thick. It dissolves into the purest dark as it falls. It never touches the soiled floor. He assumes it has become smoke. His everything hurts like an opened wound. He _is_ an opened wound. Or at least his chest is.

A single bullet puts the Overwatch soldier in his place. He has limited ammo; he knows he should not waste it. But it felt rewarding to claim that wretched life. That is one person less that Jack can claim to command. His intestines churn when he thinks of Jack. His organs pulse unnaturally against his skeleton. The molecular pain is back. He can feel the marrow in his bones. The calcium dissolves into the darkness. It welcomes him. But the pain does not. He is glad when his ribs become the dark. They do not ache when they do not exist.

But his thoughts remain. He wonders if it will ever reach the point where his mind will dissolve too. The darkness will still welcome him with black tendrils and warmth, he knows. That is not the problem.

When he reforms again, he is in another room. It is quicker to travel when he is one with his beloved darkness. But it is also fastidious to become human again. If he can count himself as human anymore. He does not know. Not anymore.

His shotguns form in his fists while his hands appear too. It feels… strange. Eerie. Foreign. He goes from not having a body to having metal gripped. He does not know how or when he travels through a metal door in front of him. But he does. The room is empty. There are red LEDs blaring overhead. He would resent them, but he just does not care.

The pain is back. His ribs encircle his internal organs as he leans forward, doubling over. He growls. His mouth opens. Something drips from between his teeth. His canines are more pointed than usual. Or maybe not. This body is the only “normal” he remembers. A pity, maybe. Jack would probably think that. He has a strong moral code sometimes. It is always commendable. But it is also laughable. He thinks back but cannot remember if he ever decided to laugh or smile. His memory does not exist in this realm. He knows that things have happened to him. Of course. That’s how living works.

Is he alive right now?

_Jack…_

“Gabriel?!”

_Jack…_

“What happened?!”

_You’re here…_

“Are you alright?!”

_You should not be here…_

“Talk to me!”

_Jack…_

His mouth does not work. He kneels on the floor and looks to the darkness pooling underneath his body. He has one leg on the floor from boot to knee. It threatens him with disappearing. No, not now… Jack is here. He does not need to see. This horror is not his burden to bear. He should carry this weight alone. Jack must remain untainted by the dark. Just like he always has. Blackwatch protecting Overwatch. Him destroying Jack.

Just like Jack did when he walked out of his room.

Heavy hands lean on his shoulders from behind him. If Jack is armed, he cannot tell. He feels Jack’s touch. It sets his cells aflame. He has missed Jack’s touch more than he has missed the dark. It threatens with swallowing him whole. Every part of him aches for Jack. He wants to ask if Jack has missed him too. But his mouth does not work.

It does not work, because he does not have a tongue. He can taste darkness on his teeth. He controls it, to an extent. He wants to scream in disgust at what he is becoming. It dies in his throat. His vocal cords have disappeared. Ah, so the darkness can be a cruel mistress… Or maybe this is just its sense of humour.

He has missed Jack. Jack is here. He cannot speak.

What a cruel joke of a being that he has become…

“Gabriel…”

Jack tries to hold him against his own chest. He can feel the cold uniform. And he hates it. He hates how blue it is. It has no business being so light blue. Like a holo-screen. Like the holo-screen he saw a traitor through. Like Jack’s eyes opening in horror.

He dissolves into the cold darkness with a shriek. He does not know if anybody else can hear his pain. Another cruel joke… Pain is silent. Even when he screams out, nobody says a thing. Because nobody cares. But that is okay. He can carry on. He is now a carrion bird. He can hear the darkness singing. Now it sounds like mockery. The unsung hero is a tragic hero. How ironic. But also fitting.

His head hurts. He does not know what form he has. What form he _is_. He cannot tell anymore. He wants to end this pain.

But he does not want to hurt Jack.

Jack has followed him. So this smoky darkness can be traced. He thinks he should be noting that down. A mental note. Like he used to take. But he cannot focus. His mind is scattered. He is one with the darkness. And the darkness does not think.

“Gabe!”

He stops. His legs hurt. His thighs are trembling.

“Gabe, I’m here…”

Is he standing? He does not know. He does not have hips anymore.

“Gabe, I’m not going away…”

_You should…_

“I’m staying, I’m not gonna leave you again!”

“ _Jack…_ ”

There are hands holding him. His head spins on its own axis. Does it have an axis? It exists. It does not exist. Like the rest of his body. It shifts. It shimmers. The darkness is cruel now. It grips him from the sides of his head. Like the bad doctor gripped him to tie him down. Her operating table was uncomfortable to lay on. His neck always ended in an uncomfortable angle. Just like now.

His arms decide to reform without him issuing the command. They roll on either side of Jack’s head. That blonde hair feels soft against his skin. So he has a body after all. One that still functions as human sometimes. That is good to know. He loves the darkness because it welcomes him, but he cannot feel Jack when he is one with the dark. He does not have skin when he travels in smoke; now, he does. He does not know where his clothes are, though. He had been dressed before. But now he can feel Jack’s hands on his skin.

Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair. He truly is one with the darkness around…

How had his son put it that one time… “Tall, dark, and handsome”? He remembers that he had laughed at his antics. Ruffled his hair. Appointed the good doctor to get the boy some T. The unsung hero. Again. His son had been so caught up in euphoria… He had thanked the good doctor for the hormone treatment, but the boy had not thanked him. As always. Nobody remembers him when there are no problems anymore.

Jack’s voice mixes with the melody. It sings sweet, but Jack is sweeter. He leans in to taste his pale skin between the curve of his jaw and the blue uniform. But he still has no tongue. He opens his mouth and presses his teeth to him instead. He feels how sweet, how supple, it tastes. Strange. He is not truly tasting it, but he can tell. His memory comes alive, like a live wire. His core lights aflame.

He explodes from the inside out.

“Gabe…!”

He cannot tell if that was a moan or a scolding. Maybe it was both. Jack’s hand at the back of his neck presses him closer. His knees scream in molecular pain. Ah, so he is kneeling… then, Jack is too. They are the same height. They see at the same eye-level. But they do not always see eye-to-eye. That is expected, though. Nobody ever sees always eye-to-eye with him. He has been a monster for far too long. The bad doctor only made his body match his pain. The fame was already there. He would claim it, but he does not care. People will always talk. They will always speak better of Jack.

Jack deserves praise. He led Overwatch while it crumbled. Meanwhile he let the bad doctor strap him to a table and inject black blood into his veins. Jack has always been a part of the light. He has always been a part of the dark. He should perish here and now. Nobody will miss the unsung tragedy.

But first he needs to carry Jack away.

He regrets not having kidnaped Jack. He could have hauled him away a long time ago. He could have deserted and taken the fall. Carrying Jack out of all the messes. People would hate him and feel for Jack. Just like they do now. But at least that way Jack would have been safe. Not in the middle of a tragic melody that he cannot hear.

He clutches Jack’s body between his arms. His muscles burn as badly as his cells do. The pain mixes with the ache. The longing and the disaster. He bites down on Jack’s neck again. The sound he gets this time is definitely a moan. Good… Dear Jack deserves no pain.

It takes agony and misery, but he finally wills his tongue back. It reforms from the roots at the back of his throat, still more darkness than flesh. He can feel every cell coming back to it. He feels blood flowing again. It floods the inside of his tongue, but not the rest of his mouth. That is good. He has vomited black blood before. It did not feel pleasant. It took a great toll on his body. He does not remember anything he did or said or thought in that whole week.

The tip of his tongue touches Jack’s skin. Now he can finally taste the salt on Jack. He knows it’s just sweat and lead, but he does not care. It tastes sweet. _Jack_ tastes sweet. It does not matter if it is his neck, his lips, or his cock. He has missed Jack. He wants Jack with every fibre of his being. It does not matter if he is currently made of smoky darkness or of toned flesh. He wants Jack. He wants every part of this blond man in his arms. Under his tongue.

He rakes the tip of his tongue over Jack’s neck. His hands dissolve into tendrils of black. Jack gasps. Afraid. Fear does not taste well on his skin. He does not want Jack to be afraid. He will do everything he can to make sure Jack is okay.

And that includes trying to reform his destroyed vocal cords. The darkness is more than a little reticent to give him this respite, but he does not relent. His pain means nothing. He has lived through much worse. There are old scars all over his body, telling a million horror stories about his suffering. Pain is no stranger to him. But feeling his vocal cords is eerie. They are not as tense as he had thought they would be. The lack of tension means he cannot speak for now. It is frustrating, but he knows he needs the time to pull himself together. Jack does not pressure him; he just lets him gather himself.

“ _Jack…_ ”

“I’m here.”

He moans, or maybe rasps. He can feel the air passing through his vocal cords. It does not feel pleasant. But it is okay. The pain is okay. Who cares about him? Nobody. It will be okay if he suffers. _When_ he suffers. Pain is a given now. He might as well get used to it now. Even though he already is.

“ _Jack, go…_ ”

A gargle interrupts him before he can complete the thought in his mind. Or maybe it is the word in his mouth. It is hard to tell. He is not thinking anymore. His senses are full of pain, full of Jack. Pain and pleasure. Bittersweet. Like every good tragedy must be. The dark melody starts the leitmotiv again, lacing a leading tone with a note several octaves above. It sounds like a shriek. It makes his eardrums hurt. The pain travels to his brain, and his neurons cannot take it.

They scream.

And so does he.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere without you!”

Red LEDs overhead.

“I’m not leaving you to die!”

The alarms blare louder and louder.

“GABE!”

He bites and bites and bites. He consumes. The darkness consumes him. He is the darkness. The melody crescendos. He screams out of key. Jack’s voice remains in synch. Of course. Jack is always perfect. He shines through the pain. He is sunshine incarnate. He has always been.

He pushes Jack away. He is dying. Jack should not. They are about the same age, but he is still older. More jaded. More destroyed. Jack is younger. He has decades ahead of him. He should get a happy ending. Heroes always get happy endings. Except the tragic, unsung ones. Jack gets a happy ending. He does not. But it is okay. He can accept that. He cannot heal, but Jack can.

His mind focuses just enough to understand what his smoking body is doing. He is smoke. Where there is smoke, there is fire. But then why does he feel so cold…?

His mind dissolves again. Muscle memory carries him through hallways that he does not remember walking through. He is not walking now, either. He flies. Or maybe floats. Or whatever it is that smoke does. There are heavy footsteps following behind his trail.

_Jack…_

He blazes through the halls. He does not know what else he does or thinks. For a moment, he is back on his bed. But it is not his bed, it is Jack’s. And then he rolls around, and he is on the operating table. Again. Strapped down. Half-naked. Arms extended. The needle is close to his flesh. The bad doctor scoffs. His skin is dark. She cannot find any good veins without stabbing him. The pain prickles like his son said tattoos do. He does not know if that is true. He has scars down to the muscle, but no ink under his skin.

His mind swims in memories. Jack. The silent cyborg. His adorable son. The good doctor. The bad doctor. Jack. His mind runs in circles.

He does not register pulling the lever, but he registers the pain. All of his atoms being forcefully separated. Violently. Screaming. Shrieking until his vocal cords explode. He is smoke. He is flesh. He is one with the darkness. But it does not welcome him.

_Jack…_

He screams again. He cannot help it. The pain is killing him again. A death after a death after a death. A fitting end. He has brought death after death after death. And now Overwatch lays dead too. Just like he does.

_Jackie…_

He cannot see. He cannot hear. He has no fingers to feel Jack with. But that taste so sweet will accompany him to the grave. Beyond the grave. Bury him shallow. He can feel another death coming. Let the darkness welcome him. It will always welcome him. Even when he cannot think of it at all.

_I love you…_


End file.
